All Our Tomorrows
by springburn
Summary: An AU/Crossover fic. 12th Doctor and Clara. Malcolm Tucker and OC female character. Saving the Future. Body swap. Love and romance story.
1. Chapter 1

Initially I had no use for this tale, it was just unrelated scenes, it was going to be a Malcolm story purely, then I hit on the 'John Smith' idea, so I've tied the two together.

This story is written in a series of short or longer scenes, more like a TV programme might be, rather than chapters, which will follow on from each other, or jump about as the story unfolds.

The story is an AU/Crossover and features The 12th Doctor and Clara, Malcolm Tucker and an OC female character. As well as character mentions from both Dr Who and The Thick of It. It is set after Last Christmas from DW point of view.

There are references to the Turn Left episode of The 10th Doctor and Donna Noble as well as the Family of Blood episode, with The 10th Doctor and Martha Jones. (Both of which are favourites of mine).

The events from the perspective of The Thick of It happen after Season Three, where Malcolm is forced to resign, and is later reinstated. A General Election is coming up and there is a real prospect of Nicola becoming PM. ( in TTOI season 4, this had already happened, so I've changed the order).

Later, Season Four of The Thick of It will be crucial, but I'll talk more about that later.

I will post a few scenes at a time, under the guise of chapters. Three scenes to each chapter, or two if the scenes are long.

As with Family of Blood, the Doctor, as human, has human feelings. He essentially becomes Malcolm, as he became John Smith, and Malcolm is bitter, driven and lonely.

Clara, is not His Clara, she is Malcolm's Clara, and the relationship is a little different, as you will see.

The seeds of Malcolm's relationship with Beth were sown before The Doctor takes his place and therefore continue.

This is the craziest idea I've ever had...its up to you, dear reader to decide whether it works or not. The whole concept of taking Malcolm's place is obviously not foolproof, there are anomalies but it is only a story, I'm not trying to tie up every single loose end, so bear that in mind, and we have to have a Malcolm to return to after its all over. Also there will be an awful lot of parallels between the lives of the Timelord and the Spin Doctor.

(I'm hoping Steven Moffat has come up with a plausible explanation for why there are people throughout history with The Doctor's face!) Which can explain why he's still there after The Doctor has gone, and why he was there in the first place!

ALL OUR TOMORROWS.

 **Scene 1**

Clara circled the console and stood beside him, linking her arm through his. They did this now. He didn't seem to mind; hand holding, cuddles, the odd kiss, not a long deep kiss, but a kiss nevertheless.

"What ya doin?"

"I'm worried, Clara"

He pushed the screen in her direction and she looked, eyes widening, confusion clouding her face.

"Oh my goodness! He has your face! How can that be? Who is he Doctor?"

She watched as the doppelgänger sat on the park bench to share his coffee break with a co-worker.

"His name is Malcolm Tucker, he works as Media Advisor for the Opposition and was formerly Director of Communications for Her Majesty's Government."

"So, important then?"

"Well, he's a small cog in a big wheel. But that's not the point."

"He shouldn't be there, not now, not ever, but he is. Something he does, or doesn't do, is what's important, and I need to find out what it is and when, and why he's so important, but I can't...because...Timey Wimey. Crossing my own timeline. The consequences could be grave." He waved his hand dismissively.

"Is he a Zygon or something?"

"No, but there are certain similarities to me in his DNA, but there's no Timelord double helix. I've had Kate check him out, background etc...it appears he may not be a fixed point in time."

"God, Doctor what does that even mean?"

"Well, in one of my past regenerations, we encountered a point in time where universes converged, rifts happened, there were choices to be made. Donna Noble was at the centre of it...basically I had to meet her, and she had to make me do something, if I didn't...well...bad things happened. Whichever path was chosen, defined the future. I think this is another of those moments."

"But why does he look like you?"

"Because he is an echo of me, not as a Timelord, but as a human."

"You mean he's you, but with the Timelord taken away?"

"Yes." His brow furrowed.

"Which means that I may have to become him."

Clara gulped...

"I've done it before, to hide myself. Extracted the Timelord part of me, become human."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Very."

"So, the fact he's there means you've done it...or are going to?"

"Not really, he's there, regardless, but he shouldn't be...that's why I need to take him out of the equation. So that I can find out at which exact point in history, the pathways diverge."

"We need to 'collect' him. Have him here, safe in the Tardis. In stasis. I need Kate to create a false life for him, one that can be erased later. And I need to take his place."

He held a watch and chain out to her, she took it, turning it in her hands, tracing the Gallifreyan symbols on the case.

"I'm not liking the sound of that."

"That's not the half of it. You're going to have to help me."

"What? How?"

"We are both going to have to be part of the deception, if I'm going to be him, I need you to be part of his life too. You need to be the holder of the Timelord part of me. But you can't be you...you need to be someone close to him, and you can't retain your own memories."

"Doctor, this sounds really scary, more scary than jumping into your timeline."

"It's terrifying! I will forget every part of myself. I will be human. I will be Malcolm Tucker, feel what he feels, live as he lives. The Tardis will take your memories too, like a form of hypnosis, giving you an identity that matches with him. You will know nothing else. But there will be certain triggers. You will know the importance of the Watch and when I discover the defining moment of Mr. Tucker's career, the one that has such an impact, we will know to either prevent or encourage it, depending on which is relevant. And afterwards, I will pre programme the Tardis, to find us and bring us back."

"But isn't that messing with Time?"

"It's not a fixed point, just as Donna, turning left, was not fixed. No...I know you don't know the whole story, that's for another time, just know this...Two paths, one good, one bad, two choices, left or right. It could come down to something as simple as that. Something that Malcolm Tucker does, or doesn't do, that has far reaching consequences. We can't hope to influence him ourselves, to be in the right place at the right time. So we need to take him out of the loop. He has his own life, his own problems, but Kate will create a new persona and new background and I'll step in, then afterwards we put him back and he carries on as if nothing had happened. The fracture automatically heals. Time is, effectively, rewritten."

Clara sucked in her cheeks, with the enormity of it.

 **Scene 2**

It began only a few days previously. He'd joined her on the park bench, where she usually sat for her coffee break. Nose in a book.

She'd sensed a movement near, and looked up, He was standing awkwardly beside the seat.  
"May I?"

Fuck if he wasn't fed up to the back teeth. This emptiness, just didn't go away, he was sick of being alone.  
She shifted her bag and jacket, shunted along to make room for him.  
Trying to go back to her chapter, she had the feeling he was watching her surreptitiously, out of the corner of his eye.  
She huffed, and looked at him, frowning.  
"Sorry," he said," I'm disturbing you."  
What a cow she was being, she thought. She marked her place and closed the book. Turning more towards him.  
"It's fine." She said, "lovely day."  
"What are you reading?"  
"It's all about Leonardo Da Vinci." She replied, showing him the book cover.  
"Wow! That looks interesting."  
"It is actually." She said, " fascinating man...a genius too, I think. Certainly ahead of his time at any rate."  
She looked at her wristwatch.  
"I have to go."  
"It's been nice meeting you." He smiled. He had a nice smile.  
"You too. Bye."  
She hadn't asked his name even, or really taken him in at all, except the smile. That was it. That few moments, on a bench, on a sunny morning.

He sat alone, after she'd gone, sipping his coffee.

From somewhere behind him and unfamiliar sound reached his ears.

'Vvvooooorrrrrpppp Vvvvvvooooorrrppppppp'

 **Scene 3**

TheDoctorlooked down at the sleeping man. Clara stood beside him.

"It's weird." She remarked.

"Will he be okay...he seems a bit melancholy?"

"The Tardis will look after him, and when we return him, he won't remember a thing...it'll be like waking from a long sleep."

"But Time will be rewritten, he might be different."

"No, he'll pick up where he left off, and then continue on the right path, things'll be okay."

The Tardis main frame was wired and ready to go. The Watch clipped in position, The Doctor prepared for his transformation.

"Don't forget, after the transference we'll have time to leave the Tardis, and assume our lives. Then we're on our own. You'll have the Watch. Keep it with you at all times, for Gods sake, don't loose it. You will know the memory trigger when you get it. I will know nothing, except the moment I need to choose the path. The Tardis will stay out of Time until she is needed. She is programmed to find us when it's over. But it'll be down to you to get us inside it, because I'll need my Timelord self back, And I won't remember. That'll be down to you too."

"Sure...what could possibly go wrong, eh...Doctor?"

"How do you feel about being my daughter?"

"Distinctly uncomfortable, but I guess I won't know at the time, so it'll have to be okay! He doesn't actually have a daughter, does he?"

"Nope, but as far as everyone is concerned, he does now!"

"Doctor...before we do this...there's something..."

He turned towards her, and she stood on tiptoe, pulling him down, into a searing kiss, more loving, closer, deeper than they'd shared before.

When they eventually separated, his gaze was hot, face flushed, pupils blown.

"So not my daughter then!" He whispered, voice hoarse.

"Definitely not Doctor."

"When this is finished...we need to talk..." She said, "and seriously!"

He withdrew his hands from her hips, where they rested.

"Let's get this over." He said.

His head surrounded and fastened into the metal dome, wires protruding at odd angles. Sweat gathered on his brow. He gave her one last look and she flicked the switch. Sparks flew, flashes and crackles rent the air. His face twisted in pain, as the watch began to glow. His breath in gasps, then with a final yell he fell silent. Apparently sleeping.

She plugged herself into the console, using metal peg like grips he'd fastened there,

"Well, here goes, old girl, " she said. " look after us both...please!"

She pressed the buttons on the keypad as The Doctor had shown her. She felt as though her head were being boiled, melting. Then...nothing. It was done.

She freed them both, and the Doctor roused himself. He looked odd in the grey suit he'd chosen, so different from his usual attire.

Once outside, she closed the Tardis door and it immediately dematerialised.

She pointed the Doctor in the direction of the office buildings.

"Bye Dad, thanks for meeting me."

"See ya, love!"

He ambled away, and she headed to what was now her flat.


	2. Chapter 2

After the first three scenes, which were kinda by way of an Introduction to the two halves of the story, these next three, focus on Malcolm, who has now been replaced, by the Doctor.

He now has a new back story, provided for him by Kate and, as far as he is concerned that is his life. The Doctor retains none of his own memories at all. Just as when 10 became John Smith.

Malcolm has been alone for more than two years. And he's sick of it. The thought of dating terrifies him. He has poured himself into work, although the timing of his marriage breakdown coincided with his forced resignation. The combination of the two have left him embittered and cynical.

 **Scene 4**

Her work area was her little sanctuary. With her door closed she was cocooned from the rest of the offices, and could get on with her work relatively undisturbed.

This week, however, was a little different. New office furniture had been delivered.

Old filing cabinets, bookcases, shelves and desk all had to emptied, cleared of detritus and refilled.

She'd worn old clothes that day. Skinny jeans, an old t-shirt and a hoodie. Converse on her feet, for comfort. She'd bought her Henry hoover into work and gloves, polish and dusters.

There was stuff at the back of those cupboards that hadn't seen the light of day for decades, she thought.

So, covered in cobwebs, a streak of dirt down one cheek, earphones plugged in, music blaring, she began her blitz.

As she worked, she sang along to the music, jigging around from bookcase to rubbish sack, wiggling her bum, twirling around...in the zone.

Moby was blasting in her ears, and she sang along lustily...

 _Oh Lordy, trouble so hard...oh Lordy, trouble so hard. Don't nobody know my trouble but God, don't nobody know my trouble but God..._

Glancing up, sweaty, and dishevelled, but happy as Larry, she realised her door was open and she had an appreciative audience!

Several of her colleagues were gathered there, all grinning or laughing heartily.

It made her jump, seeing them there unexpectedly. But she saw the joke, and giggled in mock surprise, along with them, bowing theatrically.

One by one they peeled away, until only He stood there, leaning on the door frame, nonchalant, but with an odd expression on his face, if she'd been asked to describe it, she'd have said 'fascinated'.

 **Scene 5**

Music pumped from the speakers **.** It was still early, at least by office party standards. But it had been a long difficult day and she'd had enough. Fetching her coat from the cloakroom attendant, waving and hugging a few goodbyes, she burst outside into the cool night air. After the throb of the bass, all seemed still and quiet, she took in a few deep breaths, shoulders relaxing.

On a low brick wall, he was perched. Long legs stretched before him, hunched over a blackberry, which he appeared to be methodically scrolling through. She didn't recognise him until he looked up, hearing her step.

He was wearing glasses, black topped, solid rimmed, retro, chic...nice.

She wondered if he was drunk and had come outside for air.

"Okay?"

His face registered recognition.

"Oh, Hi! Yeah, fine!" He didn't sound intoxicated in the least.

"Thought I had the number of a cab firm on here." He waved the device at her, frowning.

"But it seems I haven't."

"I'm leaving now, where do you live? I can drop you off if you like."

He seemed to consider for a second or two,

"Nah, it's fine, I'll get a cab."

"At 2am on a Saturday night? I doubt it. I don't mind, really. The car's just over there."

"Sure?" He looked pained, as if accepting the lift, was somehow an admission of something unspoken.

"It's no biggie...where do you live?"

He gave vague directions...hands gesticulating, apologetic.

"Fine, it's on my way...hop in. It's Elizabeth by the way. But people call me Beth."

He climbed into the passenger seat, strapping himself in.

"Malcolm. It's really nice of you. Maybe you'll let me buy you a coffee tomorrow...or sometime..."

She gave him a small smile.

"There's really no need, it's fine, I'm going your way anyway."

He huffed, and settled back into the seat, looking out into the gloom. Silent.

"Good do..." She ventured.

"Yeah, not bad, if you like that sort of thing..."

"I take it you don't then?" She said, focussed on the road ahead.

"Not hugely, no. Bit of a chore to be honest."

"Well, Cheryl enjoyed herself anyway...when I left she was in the stationary cupboard with that Barry guy."

"Well, she was the Birthday Girl!" They both laughed.

"Just here, is me." He pointed and she pulled into a parking space.

Peering out she looked up at the houses, thirties style mostly, studenty looking, somehow he didn't seem to fit here.

"Not much of a place, bit of a dump actually." He remarked, as if reading her thoughts," but it's only temporary. Well..." he paused, as if uncertain of what to do next.

"Right...night then, see you Monday." She said, with a degree of finality.

"Yeah. Thanks for the lift, I appreciate it."

"No worries. Have a good one."

He stepped out onto the pavement and shut the car door. Then stood back, bending down slightly, to wave his hand, as she drove away.

Then she noticed...he was wearing a gold wedding band.

"Shit!"

 **Scene 6**

Coffee break time was a bit of a ritual in their building. She liked to get out of the office if at all possible. She liked to separate herself from her workmates and have half an hour to herself.

The bench in St. James's Park , she always chose, if possible, faced away from Whitehall and out towards the lake, there was a tree canopy above for shade on summer days, and a flower bed beside, which was always nicely planted. Sometimes there were sparrows to feed, or the odd squirrel. It was just a few moments peace, away from the whirlwind.

It was a few days since he'd first joined her, today he appeared again, almost from nowhere.

"Hi, again...Beth...Mind if I...?"

"Go ahead. Be my guest."

He sat down, with a puff of his cheeks. Then turned to her.

"No Leonardo?"

"No, not today. I left my glasses upstairs."

He nodded, but offered no more comment. He sat, looking down at his hands, fiddling with his cuff or picking at a fingernail nervously.

"I enjoyed your singing." He said eventually.

She laughed,

"Ha! You and half the floor." She said.

" You should sing properly, without head phones in, I mean, you'd be really good."

"Maybe I will!" She replied, "Actually I did once sing from time to time, in a band, still could now if I'd had a couple of drinks for Dutch courage! So who knows?"

She rose, collecting her cup and wrappers.

"I'll love and leave you." She smiled.

"See you later Malcolm." She walked away, and he watched her thoughtfully. Before returning his gaze to the lake.


	3. Chapter 3

In these next three scenes we see Malcolm and Beth, circling around each other. Both unsure, both confused. But, ultimately, interested. It's tough for them, but there's something there.

I feel I must address a concern that someone has raised with me...the problem of getting their head around Clara as Malcolm's daughter. Here are some salient points...

1)The Doctor and Clara at this point, as much as they both might love each other, do not have an established relationship, sexual or otherwise.

2)When The Doctor becomes Malcolm, he needs Clara to be there to take care of his Timelord self, and his human self. But they cannot be catapulted into an immediate full on coupledom. The point of my story is, Malcolm is alone, and lonely, he wouldn't be alone if he had an established girlfriend.

3) Clara's character has to be close to Malcolm to keep an eye on him, and be someone he trusts implicitly, and the only way I could see that working would be that she was family.

4) without giving too much away, the likelihood of Clara going off with the Doctor at the end would be almost certain, so time would be spent building a relationship between her and Malcolm, only for it to be abandoned and Malcolm to be left alone again.

5) I wanted to emphasise the similarities in The Doctor's and Malcolm's lives/feelings, and Clara's persona as I'm writing her fits that dynamic. It would not work if she was romantically involved with both of them.

Hope that addresses some concerns, I'm painfully aware of how many people ship Malcolm/Clara and how many stories there are of them together...but this is my AU...anything can happen...it doesn't have to be canon. And I've always striven to write different things from other people, just to put it out there! So, please...bear with...!

 **Scene 7**

There had been three or four occasions now, when he found his way to the park bench for coffee. He always seemed apologetic and a little awkward, or very shy, or both. She figured he was a nice guy, and was just trying to be friendly. She hoped it was no more than that. She had no interest whatever in becoming embroiled with a married man who worked in her office.

He never talked about himself really, only about general things, and refrained from questioning her about her own life. She offered little or no information about her private life. That was no one's business but her own.

Several days later, she was doing the rounds of all the offices that made up the interior of Opposition Headquarters, and all the desks, collecting for Sandra, one of the PA's, who was soon to be married.

He put in his money and signed the card, then just as she was leaving...

"I don't suppose you fancy lunch do you? Only there's a new place opened in the square, and I wanted to try it...Italian?"

His face, looked up at her as she stood by his desk. He looked...hopeful? Scared? She wasn't sure.

"Um...okay, I guess." She tried to sound convinced.

"It's okay, if you don't." He said quickly, "it's no big deal, it's just lunch."

"No...it's fine, I'll go to lunch with you, but I have to be back on time, I've a load of stuff to get through this afternoon."

"Okay, shall we say, one?"

"See you then."

Was this a good idea?...she very much doubted it.

What was it about people, male or female, who were married, but wanted a little excitement away from home? Or was she reading far to much into his invitation? It could, after all, just mean lunch, as he'd said. Well, she'd said yes now, so she would keep an open mind.

The restaurant turned out to be nice. A little impersonal perhaps, but pleasant enough, and the menu was good.

"Thanks for this." He said as he pulled her chair out for her to sit down.

She duly noted this, rather old fashioned, but polite act.

"I seldom eat anything from morning till night, and going out to lunch by myself is not much fun. I wouldn't want to eat with most of the plebs in my office anyway, only my PA, Sam, she's okay, a diamond. But you can't take your secretary to lunch everyday, people gossip."

"What would they say about you taking me then?" She asked.

"Nothing." he replied, "not to my face anyway, and you're in a different part of the building, so they'd be less likely to notice."

They ordered.

"Anyway," he added, "it's just lunch...nothing to get into a lather about!"

 **Scene 8**

Works do's. He hated them. Lots of people who work, daily, alongside each other, but otherwise have little in common, thrown together into some tawdry venue with a liberal sprinkling of alcohol.

It always ended in tears for someone.

He leaned against the bar, didn't drink much, had never been a huge drinker, but too much to drive home. He tried very hard not to look at his watch too often.

People came and went, he chatted amicably, stifled a yawn. Then the DJ, who had, admittedly been playing some good stuff, announced the arrival of the band.

Having once played in a pretty shit band himself, in his dim and distant past, he thought this would probably be torture, and braced himself accordingly.

He was pleasantly surprised, they weren't half bad. The floor filled with dancers, whoops and hollers, hands in the air...his own fingers drumming against the bar.

Down at the front, between numbers, it looked like a little scuffle was going on...several people were, pulling at someone, egging them, cajoling them. At first he thought it was a fight, then he could see that a woman, was being hauled up onto the stage.

"Oh, shit! Here we go, pissed karaoke...just as he was starting to enjoy the music!"

Then he recognised her, his lunch companion of the previous week. Beth. She looked embarrassed, painfully so, flushed, beetroot red, protesting.

The band members seemed to know her, the guitarist beckoned her vehemently. Then came to the mic.

"We are pleased to say, Beth has agreed to do a number with us..."

Lots more whoops and cheers.

He put his drink down on the bar, and watched with rapt attention.

She came to the front of the stage, mic in hand, turning to the drummer, to count her in...

They launched into 'Changing', a Paloma Faith number.

His jaw almost dropped to the floor, the quiet, reserved person he'd eaten with a few days previously, who had just been literally shoe horned onto the stage apparently against her will, was transformed before his eyes.

If he was honest, her voice wasn't as raw and raunchy as Paloma's, it was clearer, sharper, but my God, what a voice...she was absolutely slaying them. Powerful, melodic, expressive...bloody hell, he was transfixed.

The song ended and she took an awkward little bow, and amid the yelling for more, slipped quietly back into the maelstrom, pats on the back, hugs and kisses, as she smiled and weaved her way through the throng and was lost among the crowd, as the bands next number began.

 **Scene 9**

It hadbeen a hell of a day. Nothing but hassle. Malcolm had been dealing with the woman he felt was his nemesis, Nicola Murray, Party Leader. Her ineptitude never ceased to amaze him. In the upcoming General Election, she could end up as Prime Minister, for fucks sake.

Everyone was tired and the consensus was to pour into the nearest pub and celebrate the fact they'd got through it and it was Friday! Neither Malcolm nor Beth really fancied it, but both felt they should at least show solidarity. He as the 'Boss' and she as one of a close knit little department. Both ordered a soft drink, they stood near the bar, making small talk, but she noticed he looked at the clock on the wall, more than once.

"I've had enough," he leaned over to speak quietly, "I'm away home."

"I'm afraid I'm done too, I'll drop you if you like, you're on my way."

He accepted gladly this time and they made their excuses to leave.

On reaching his place, he turned to her as he unclipped his seatbelt.

"Coffee?" His face took on that expectant look again, almost like a child hoping for a present.

She hesitated.

The lunch had been fine, it was just lunch, they'd chatted, she'd relaxed. It was nice. But this was his place. This was going nowhere...he was married, and she was...well, she was...not ready.

If he tried anything, she'd be so angry, but at least then she'd know for certain that he was just another untrustworthy dick. And she could tell him once and for all, he was wasting his time. She was half annoyed with him, half with herself. But somehow that look on his face, made up her mind.

"Okay," she said, " but I can't stay long."

It turned out to be exactly what he said...coffee. His place was pretty dismal, but it was tidy and it was clean. There was very little evidence of a woman's touch inside. Looking around her she had the distinct impression of a male domain. Ordered, uncluttered, rather stark and impersonal. No photographs, no fripperies, whoever his wife was, she wasn't much of a homemaker, Beth thought. Also, where was she? Certainly not at home...it was all so odd. That wedding ring was so...blatant...so...there, on his finger.

She didn't know what to think. She didn't like to pry.

Later, curled up on her own couch at home, she sipped her cocoa and felt rather confused. He was nice. He was better than nice. She liked him.

"Nope, it's not going to happen, leave it." She thought.

Just as an end note...I am not trying to be accurate to Whovian history in this story. I'm well aware of past anomalies, but I'm unconcerned by them. Some things just don't get explained! It's AU...and anything can happen!


	4. Chapter 4

We learn a little more about Malcolm's situation, that Kate Lethbridge-Stewart has carefully constructed for him. Clara is really the only addition, the rest of his past is Malcolm's own.

We also learn some crucial facts about Beth.

Staying with Malcolm for the time being, to get a little more of his feelings and his relationship with Clara, which is a very strong one.

 **Scene 10**

Staff kitchen. She didn't often go there, preferring to bring her own stuff, but she had a banging headache and needed water to swallow a couple of paracetamol. A knot of women were busy making tea, dunking the teabags in the mugs and idly chatting.

"Malcolm? I think he's rather tasty."

"He's too old for you."

"Not to mention he's the big boss man!"

Her ears pricked up.

"He swears a lot. Upstairs they're all shit scared of him. 'Specially when he goes on one of his rampages. He told Tom to fuck off the other day. The back office girls hate him."

"I heard he was gay."

"Don't be daft, he was married, he's got a daughter."

" _Was_ married?"

"Yeah, messy divorce apparently. Bit of a bitch by all accounts."

"Really?...I didn't know that."

"God! Laura, _everyone_ knows about it, he was devastated, I heard. That's why he's always here. No one to go home to. Bit of a saddo now, I think, hasn't dated since, as far as I know. Been over two years. Still wears his ring too, poor sod."

"Still quite a sexy guy though, all that pent up aggression, bet he'd be good in bed, I definitely would!"

Beth scurried back to her office. Well, there was a turn up for the books and no mistake! Little did they know he'd invited her out for lunch!

Odd that he still wore his ring, was it because he still wanted to be married? Or still thought of himself as such? Or to make people think he wasn't available? Or was it just for effect?

It certainly answered some of her silent questions, but it raised a whole lot more.

 **Scene 11**

Stupid. He'd gone all this time alone. He didn't need anyone. Dating! Jesus, he hadn't dated since before he got married, it was bloody years. His daughter was 28, for fucks sake. What a joke!

He and Clara were spending their usual Wednesday evening together. Sometimes they went to a restaurant or the cinema, or out for chips...or coffee, or chips and coffee, but mostly they stayed in, had a takeaway, watched a DVD, talked. Malcolm looked forward to Wednesday's more than he could say. It was the one day of the week he left the office on time.

Tonight the topic of conversation was his love life...or lack of it.

"Dad, it's time. You need to get passed this. You need to find someone nice. You don't deserve to be on your own for the rest of your life. You're still young enough to enjoy yourself."

"No one worth their salt is gonna look twice at me, Darl, I'm a sad old fucker, with no life except at work, and even there, I don't fit in really, anyway. They're all a bunch of wankers, tumbling over each other, trampling each other into the mud, to go up in the world."

"But, Dad, you've got where you are without doing all that, you're better than all of them and you know it. I'm proud of you."

"You're the one good thing about my whole crap existence, Clara, if you weren't there I..."

"Dad, don't! Surely there's someone you know, that you could ask for a drink or something?"

"As a matter of fact, I had lunch with a very nice lady only the other day!"

"Well, there you are then! Who is she, what's she like?"

"She's my age-ish...but she's married, well, she wears a wedding ring, an eternity ring and an engagement ring, so I guess that's very married."

"That's no good, Dad, you need someone single, I told you, try one of the reputable dating sites."

"No fucking way. I'm not sticking myself on something like that. Can't do that in my line of work anyway, everyone has to be vetted. Besides, I'm not that desperate."

"Please, Dad, just try, I worry about you."

"Well, there's no need, Clara, I'm a big lad, I can look after myself."

 **Scene 12**

Loneliness is a funny thing. Sometimes he would jog along quite happily, and another day, he could barely drag himself out of bed.

Being used to having someone around, even if you spent a great deal of time apart, it's just the knowing...knowing there's someone there, someone who's thinking about you, or who cares. A person who would pick up the phone if you remembered to call, or share little moments with you, a touch of a hand, a word, a kiss, someone who would be already in bed when you got home, but you could slide between the sheets and snuggle up to.

Malcolm slung his pen across the desk, and rubbed his eyes. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

He looked down at his hand, twisted the ring there. Part of him wanted to take it off right then, throw it in his desk drawer. But he couldn't. He wore it to remind himself. What a failure he was. How much being married had meant to him, although he didn't know it until it was too late.

He had loved her, his wife, he just wasn't very good at it.

Pulling open his laptop, he started idly scrolling through emails. One from Sam, his PA.

 _'Malc,_

 _Know you don't usually do these, but this lady works here, and she's a friend. So thought you might oblige._

 _Sam.'_

Therewas a link to a 'Just Giving' page.

He idly clicked _,_ then sat up straight, suddenly interested. A photo of two young people, probably the same age as his own daughter, running a half marathon in aid of Cancer Research, in memory of their Dad. The first donation was from their mum, saying how proud of them she was, and the name...Elizabeth Ferguson.

He closed the computer down and sat back in his chair. Thoughtful.

This information changed a lot of things. It answered some of his many questions. Most of which he'd been too afraid to ask or felt it would be too invasive to tackle her about.

Unsurprising she hadn't mentioned it, not a great conversation opener...'hi, I'm Beth and my husband's dead!'...

Odd that he'd never heard anyone in the office mention her husband though, or that he'd died. Sam had never said anything, and the two were friends, apparently. But then, why should she? Why would she even think Malcolm Tucker would be remotely interested in this woman?

Should he now ask her out properly? He'd really only been testing the waters up to now. Seeing how she reacted. He liked her, certainly, but what to do. This was new territory for him, he hadn't come close to asking anyone for a date since his divorce, hadn't even met anyone he'd want to ask. But Beth was different somehow. He smiled to himself as he remembered her crooning along to her iPod, dancing about...then the singing. That had been a revelation. She seemed fun, alive. Not dead from the neck down like he was. There were plenty of women in the building who would be only too happy to jump into bed with him, just for the kudos of saying they had, but he wasn't interested in any of them.

He would talk to Clara.

Malcolm didn't really have friends he could confide in. But he had Clara, and she was better than any friend.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm posting the next few scenes in twos rather than threes, as they are a little longer.

Here we are focussing on Clara and her feelings, alone. Then a scene of Malcolm at work. The gist of this scene is covered in Season Four of The Thick of It and is mainly set during the 'Quiet bat people' meeting in Episode 2. When a bombshell hits Malcolm...

Season Four of The Thick of It is an emotional roller coaster to say the least, I still cannot watch the last two episodes unless under the influence of alcohol! It's a crucial scene,which will take on greater importance as the story progresses. I think this is where the story really starts to get going...

 **Scene 13**

Clara arrived home from work, threw down her bag and put the kettle on. She worried about her Dad. Finding out about her mum's affair had rocked him to the core. The betrayal had been less hurtful than the the breach of trust, the thing he valued most in his relationship. The trouble was he'd had no real inkling that anything was wrong. Clara knew he worked a good deal, but that made the times when he was home all the more pleasurable. Her mother admonished her on several occasions, said she'd always take his side, that she'd forgive him anything, that they were conspiratorial together, it was like she was jealous. After the acrimonious divorce, he didn't seem to be able to move on, just hurled himself into work more and more. Buried himself. He seemed to have lost the ability to express himself in anything other than rage or expletives, and he definitely wasn't a hugging person anymore. He would hold her hand, but that was it.

She knew he was lonely and she tried to spend as much time with him as possible, but it wasn't easy. She moved schools to be nearer to him, but teaching was a full time job too, it took up most of her time; very little social life combined with an emotionally inept dad was a tough ask to cope with.

Her mobile rang.

"Hi, love, it's me."

"Dad, you okay? I just got in."

"Yeah...sorry. Listen, you know that lady I told you about?"

"What, the one who is very married?"

"Yeah...her. Well, she isn't! Very married I mean."

"Oh?"

"Her husband died of cancer nearly two years ago."

"Shit, Dad, that's tough, really tough. How did you find out?"

"It was in an email, Sam sent me, she's a friend of hers apparently."

"D'you think she'd still agree to go out with you? Maybe she wants to start dating again? I mean, she went to lunch with you."

"Yeah, but I think she was just being nice, I don't think she saw it as anything other than lunch. I think she felt sorry for me!"

"She's given me a lift a couple of times too, she seems friendly, but when I asked her in for coffee, she seemed to back off...then I got confused and I didn't know what to do!"

"Dad, you're hopeless! Are you going to try asking her again?"

"God knows! I don't know whether to or not. I mean, my life is going to be a complete shit fest with the Election coming up."

"Well, I think you should ask her, tentatively, you don't have to propose to her Dad, it's just a date."

"Yeah...okay, maybe I will. See ya, Clara. Love you. Bye."

"Love you too Dad, bye."

She hung up.

God, it was like looking after an angst-ridden hormonal teenager! Worse than her pupils!

Clara forgot the tea and poured herself a glass of wine from the fridge instead, she flopped down on the sofa.

They lied to each other so often. He lied to her when he told her he was absolutely okay, and everything was fine, when she knew he wasn't. She lied to him when she insisted she wasn't worried about him, when she was anxious almost all the time. Lies. Lies for the right reasons, but lies nevertheless.

She knew he wasn't well adapted to a solitary existence, he was not good on his own. He needed a companion, someone to tell him when to stop, when it all got too much. Someone who would just see him. See him for what he was. A man capable of great love, great compassion, who was brave, loyal and true. Someone who would love him as much as she did.

 **Scene 14**

Round the conference table in the meeting room, they all sat. Malcolm a little apart from the rest. Listening to the banter, the ideas being floated. He listened to Nicola, to Helen, who he nicknamed The Ice Bitch, and to Ollie, better known to him by many epithets, but at the moment it was Twat Weasel. He listened to the ridiculous, infantile, pointlessness of the ideas, the sheer waste of time and effort. The words that fell from their collective mouths washed over him like an oil slick on the sea.

Phrases such as 'engage with the demographic' ...

'Streetwalkers, commuter super heroes, honest wombles, quiet bat people, the all British supremes...'

Then, it hit him.

Like a bolt of lightening.

This woman cannot be allowed to become Prime Minister!

The thought of her ineptitude, the lunacy of her policy ideas, the whole package that she represented. Being in charge...of the party he'd worked so long and hard for...the government...the country. The untold damage that she could do, it suddenly all seemed clear to him. It shocked him how clear the thought was, and how certain of it he felt.

She had to go.

And he had to be the one to orchestrate her downfall. Six months. It would probably take him six months. That would be the optimum time. Before the electorate go to the polling stations. Unless she managed to monumentally fuck up before then. And he wouldn't actually put it passed her.

Plans began to swirl through his head, it was going to be a truly horrendous time.

He had to face it, somehow. It had to be done.

After his forced resignation orchestrated by The Bastard Fleming, he had struggled. Fought against the feeling of hopelessness and pessimism with the job that had once meant so much. It coincided with his divorce, he really felt as though he lost everything at that time. He couldn't really tell anyone how he felt. Not even Clara.

His heart and soul, his verve, his vigour, seemed to have evaporated, he had no real power, what was the fucking point of it all.

He just didn't feel it now, the spark was gone. Almost two years in Opposition, two years of wasted energy. From here on in it was damage limitation, and that had to start with Nicola Murray.

Leaving the building and hitting the outside air, made his lungs feel about to burst. As if he'd been underwater for minutes and had just managed to breach the surface. Buying a coffee from the vendor stand in the park, he wandered to a bench.

Then he noticed, Elizabeth...Beth, was already there.

She looked up as he approached, and smiled.

He sat next to her and huffed, blowing out through his mouth, shoulders down, rejected.

"Oh, dear," she said. "Is it that bad?"

"You have no fucking idea!"

"Try me!"

He sipped his hot drink delicately.

"I have to do a thing." He said, quietly. " Something so fucking awful, it even makes ME feel like shite, but I think it's for the ultimate good. Am I right to do it do you think?"

"I'd need a bit more information before I could comment on that, I think." She responded.

"You mean, you'd actually listen?" He looked at her in surprise.

"Sure...you look like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. A trouble shared is a trouble halved."

He considered for a moment, then took the plunge.

"Tell you what, how about I tell you over a drink later...or dinner...or a drink _and_ dinner...?"

"Sounds like a nice idea!" She smiled again, " where?"

"There's a quiet place I know, they know me there, no paps hanging around, just off The Strand."

"Okay, shall we say 7.30? I'll meet you there?"

"You're on." He gave her the address and rose to leave, "I'll see you later then, yeah?"

"I'll be there."

He walked briskly away...had she just agreed to a date? Was it a date, or was it an 'I'll listen to you friendly chat'?

Fuck if he knew.


	6. Chapter 6

The next two scenes are Clara giving her Dad some expert advice. Followed by the much anticipated first date...they are both a bit 'rabbit in the headlights' but they'll get there!

From the end of Season 3/start of Season 4 of TTOI I felt that Malcolm had had enough. His demeanour was completely different from the earlier episodes. The look on his face at the time of the resignation was the moment I think it all changed for him. Two years in Opposition followed, no real power and Nicola Murray to deal with, and that left scars. Coupled with the fact he was a marked man, his days were numbered and he knew it. I'm trying to reflect that in his scenes.

 **Scene 15**

For oncehe left the office at a reasonable time.

Reaching into his overcoat pocket for his private mobile, he hit speed dial.

He knew he relied too heavily on Clara. But she was his everything, the one shining beacon in all the shit that was his life, she was always there for him, unfailingly supportive, sympathetic, kind. He once described her as his carer, she cared so that he didn't have to. But he was lying, to her and to himself, he did care, couldn't help it.

She was smart, funny and beautiful, and impossible, all at the same time. His impossible girl. He loved her.

In those expressive brown eyes, that shone when she smiled...and when she was sad...God! It was like they inflated, he could read so much.

Her relationship with her mother was not brilliant; since the divorce, his ex-wife was never really there for her now, she'd made a new life for herself, in which Clara didn't really figure. But Clara never apportioned blame, she never played her parents one against the other, but somehow he knew she'd always be on his side, whatever happened. Together, just the two of them.

Was he a good man? He'd asked her before, in his darkest moment, and she'd said she didn't really know, but that he tried to be, and that was the point.

She'd almost slayed him with that one, made his chest ache, throat tighten, eyes smart.

He needed her. He knew it, and so did she. They were a team.

Lately, however, he'd wanted more, there was so much about having a partner that he missed. Just the closeness, the contact, that he couldn't have with Clara, he felt so empty at those times.

Right now, he was scared. He really didn't want to face the next six months alone.

Beth seemed really nice, quite his type...she'd agreed to go out with him, but he was in turmoil.

"Clara, it's me again."

"Hi Dad, you okay, what is it?"

"I need your advice...date stuff."

She chuckled,

"How can I advise you? You're the parent!"

"I've asked Beth to dinner, and she said yes. But I'm so fucking out of practice, yeah? Help me Darl, I'm crapping bricks here!"

"Look Dad, just be yourself, you're over thinking it all. It's just a date, you don't even know her yet. Or how interested she is. You don't know if she's ready for a relationship even, loosing her husband would be a huge deal. You just need to take your time. Enjoy it. Have fun!"

"Okay...fun...I can do that...I think. Fuck it, I feel like when I was 15, at the school disco! Fucking ridiculous!"

"Oh, Dad, I DO love you. Just have a nice evening, see how it pans out. You'll know if it feels comfortable or not. Don't make a big thing about it...and for God's sake, don't try to snog her!"

"No snogging...right...got that...what about hand holding? Is that appropriate?"

A peel of merry laughter trickled into his ear,

"Dad, I'm hanging up now. Go out. Have dinner. Relax. I'll speak to you tomorrow, okay!"

"Right! Okay! Bye...hey, can I ring you later?"

"No, Dad...I'll speak to you tomorrow, after school. Goodbye! "

He put his phone on the side table and went for a long hot shower.

 **Scene 16**

His driverdropped him outside the restaurant. It occurred to him that he didn't even have her number. So if he didn't spot her, or she wasn't there, he couldn't even ring.

He pushed the swing door and entered. She was there already, perched on a bar stool, fidgeting nervously, in fact she looked petrified. The relief on her face when she spotted him was tangible.

"Hi, Malcolm." She hopped off the stool and went in to kiss him, on both cheeks, brushing his face with her own.

Okay, so, was this what you did now? When you met up with someone? Fucking hell, he was out of his depth.

She must have noticed his somewhat startled expression, because, she blushed heavily, and looked flustered.

"Sorry," she said, " I'm so out of the loop with this going out lark, my daughter said, you kiss someone on each cheek when you meet nowadays, she said it was standard, everyone does it...maybe she was wrong?"

He began to laugh suddenly.

"You asked your daughter for advice on dating?"

She looked shamefaced.

"So did I !"

They looked at each other for a few seconds, then both started to laugh together. The ice was broken.

From that moment on, they both relaxed.

Shown to the table, a quiet booth, perusing the menu, they ordered a bottle of wine to share and some water for the table.

"Is this even a date? I wasn't really sure what constitutes one?" She queried.

"Nor me! Let's just see how it goes shall we? If it's shite we can chalk it up to experience, if it's half way decent, we can call it a date!"

"Fair enough!" She chuckled.

Over the meal, they chatted happily. She told him about her children, but didn't mention her husband. He told her about Clara but didn't mention his ex-wife. Then...

"So, what is this truly horrible thing, you're going to have to do?"

"Oh, I don't know if I should even talk about it. It would certainly take this meeting out of the date and into the shite category."

"Let me be the judge of that. As long as you're not planning to murder somebody! I can be discrete, Malcolm. It will go no further than this table."

He believed her.

There was something...something he couldn't quite quantify. He searched her face with his eyes. Hers were very blue, not like his own, darker and more intense. She regarded him impassively, waiting for him to speak.

With a deep breath he launched into the feelings he had about Nicola, and how he reasoned she should go. He told of the faux pas, the blunders, the ineptitude, the lack of any modicum of political savvy, the policies that stunk, that she supported, and the brilliant ones, she dismissed, it all came pouring out.

She listened intensely and with rapt attention. She refrained from comment. Sipping her wine occasionally between mouthfuls. When he finished, he sat back in his seat as though he'd been in the confessional.

"Bloody hell, Malcolm, I wouldn't want to walk a mile in your shoes. You realise that if you do anything remotely underhand to bring this about, and it gets out, you'd be committing career suicide?"

"Yeah, but somehow I don't care anymore. In fact part of me almost wants that to happen. It would be the ideal excuse, to walk away. I've been thinking about it for some time."

"What makes you so certain this course of action is the right one? I mean, supposing you're wrong?"

"Instinct."

"Instinct can be wrong, Malcolm."

"Yeah, I know. That's why it's fucking dangerous, mental, insane...call it what you will. But I'm going to do it. I know I have to."

"Then I respect that. If you're completely convinced, then you must do what you have to do, I know I can't do anything to help but..."

"You can come on another date with me, that would help enormously!"

She smiled, as the waiter took their plates.

"I'll think about it."

They finished their meal, and the topic turned to music, art and other, more pleasant subjects.

He insisted on seeing her home, despite her protests. He was old fashioned like that. They exchanged phone numbers. There was no awkwardness when they reached her home.

She leaned and kissed him on both sides again, and slid out of the car.

"Goodnight, Malcolm, I had a nice evening, thank you for the date!"

"So it still is one then? I haven't put you off?"

She smiled.

"No, you haven't put me off."

"Thanks Beth, I appreciate it. I'll call you...soon."

The car pulled away.


	7. Chapter 7

The next two scenes cover the date, and Malcolm confiding in Beth as to what he means to do...will it put her off?

The Doctor has received a phone call, not from Churchill in the past this time, but from a familiar name in the future...

We are returning to The Tardis, and a crucial scene, that tells us a little more about why The Doctor needs to take Malcolm's place...

 **Scene 17**

The meeting room was hot and stuffy. Arranged around the table they sat, files and documents in front of them, tea and coffee and water, and, inexplicably, fruit ...why was there always fruit? No one ever touched it.

Manifesto meetings...policies...Malcolm stifled a yawn.

Nicola prattled on...

"So...next on the agenda...the Science Research funding into bio technology, stem cell research and bacteriology. This is such a grey area for me. The money can be so much better spent elsewhere in my opinion. I mean...is is even ethical? I'd rather the cash went to finding specific cures, so I'm not going to back it. And if... WHEN, " she flashed a smile, " I'm PM...I'll happily sign on the dotted line for that."

"Supposing it was one of your fucking kids that had a rare disorder? Wouldn't you want every penny possible to go into searching for a cure?"

Nicola glared at Him.

"It's just that SO much money is poured in, and not a lot of good comes out."

"That's fucking bollocks! I can't believe you actually think that."

He stood up, pacing.

"It's vital work Nicola...who knows what might be discovered? One day they might be able to transplant a brain... I suggest you get yourself on the fucking list!"

Nicola rolled her eyes...

"You're very funny Malcolm, you know that?"

"Yeah, barrel of laughs, that's me!"

Two or three other items were discussed, one of which was her own 'volunteer carers initiative', a scheme whereby people who were carers for their relatives, volunteered their spare time to train other carers, who would then become paid workers. It was a joke ...what fucking spare time? Their relatives took up every minute of every day, for fucks sake, and they didn't get paid themselves, they did it for love...so why train someone else, who'd then receive the money they themselves should get in the first place? It was the looniest idea ever, but one which she was very enthusiastic about. Stupid bitch.

Malcolm switched off. He just couldn't be arsed to listen anymore.

Fortunately it was a fine day, and feeling as though he'd been released from a long prison sentence, which involved a great deal of arse fucking, he bolted for the relative green tranquility of St. James's.

There were no benches free, so he peeled off his jacket and laid it out, and sat down on it, on the grass.

"I have a travel rug here, care to share?"

He looked up, framed in the sunlight, Beth was standing over him, a tartan blanket tucked under her arm.

"I always bring it, in case the seats are taken." She smiled down at him.

Something about the look on his face, when he saw it was her, made her throat constrict.

What was that look exactly? Pain, anger, sorrow? She saw all those things.

She spread out the rug and sat down, he moved next to her, and shook out the, now crumpled, jacket.

"You look..."

"Wrecked?" he volunteered.

"I was going to say 'drained', but I guess 'wrecked' covers it."

"It doesn't even come close to describing how I feel"

He huffed, running his hands through his hair, making it stand to attention.

"I was going to text you actually, I wondered if you were free on Saturday evening?"

"Why?" He sounded defensive, unsure of whether to say, 'of course I'm fucking free, I'm always fucking free,' or whether to say, 'actually I have plans but...'

"It isn't a big deal, it's not me asking _you_ for a date...its me saying, I'm doing a little gig...at The White Lion, and I'd be glad of a familiar face...my kids can't make it, and it's the first time I've done anything since...for a long time."

"You're singing?"

"Yeah, got a little band together, with some old mates. Nothing heavy, few fast numbers, couple of ballads, bit of jazz stuff, just a short set. Testing the waters really."

"Fuck! I'd love that...was in a band myself once...mind you, we were shit."

Beth laughed aloud.

"So, you'll come?"

"Yeah, I'll come...sure."

 **Scene 18**

The gentle thrum of the Tardis engines whirred over them. The Doctor moved around the console, with a languid easiness that belied his agitated state.

The call had been urgent, insistent...and vague.

Clara's heart gave that familiar little thrill as he threw the lever, and the column began to rise and fall slowly.

She joined him, arms touching, side by side, as he watched the monitor intently, tapping buttons seemingly randomly, as he did so.

"So...?" She queried.

"The future...2091...don't know why, but the call was from UNIT headquarters, a certain Commander Lawrence Lethbridge-Stewart." He arched his eyebrows meaningfully.

The grounds of The Tower looked much the same. The skyline however, looked very different.

Vehicles, sleek and noiseless, moved effortlessly over their heads. The ancient walls of the Keep, still stood tall, as they had since the 11th century, indomitable, strong. The caw of the ravens could still be heard from the old Scaffold site.

Coming towards them, across the greensward came two men, completely swathed in bio-suits, gun-like spray apparatus in their hands.

"Doctor! Miss Oswald! You need to be decontaminated before entering, sorry, but it's essential."

They allowed themselves to be liberally sprayed, and were then ushered inside.

A sealing door closed menacingly behind them.

They were met by a smart, upright man of about 40, in uniform, who came forward, hand outstretched.

The Doctor ignored the hand and moved towards a wall screen of news reels, playing in the office behind.

"Lethbridge-Stewart?" He said, conversationally.

"Kate?"

"My great-grandmother." He replied, "dead now of course!"

"Of course." His eyes still scanned the screen, fingering his lip thoughtfully.

"Why did you call us?" Clara piped up, following the Timelord's gaze.

"We need your help, Doctor. Desperately. You might be our last hope."

The owl-like frown on his face was intense...

"Why the decontamination?"

"Just a precaution, you're pretty safe here, but we can't be too careful." He touched the screen with a finger and new pictures swirled into view.

"This is Glasgow," another sweep, "Manchester" another sweep, "Paris...Rome...Dacca...New York...Sydney."

The scenes before them were unreal, like shots from a sci-if movie. Piles of rubbish in the streets, queues of people at empty supermarkets, hospitals with beds in the corridors, or in makeshift tents, dead unburied, crowds rioting, fighting, baying, soldiers trying to maintain order, all played out before them.

"What on earth has happened? " Clara breathed, a hand over her mouth in horror.

"Global pandemic, disease that antibiotics like penicillin can't fight. Germs which resist everything we can throw at them. It's swept the world. Hundreds of thousands have died, there are too many to bury, too many to care for. Society as we know it, is breaking down, governments can't cope. We can give medicines to alleviate symptoms, but not cure the disease."

"I need to spend some time in your Archives, Commander."

The Doctor walked briskly to the door, as if he knew where he was going. "Clara! With me!" He barked.

Many hours of poring over the discs, files, musty documents, memory sticks and other records followed. Clara looked up blearily from her search of a micro-fiche index, every article they could find going back over one hundred years, anything that might be relevant. At last The Doctor was satisfied.

"Can you help us Doctor?" The Commander looked tired beyond weariness.

"I can," he replied, "but not here...not now. The Tardis has shown me that there are some Time Anomalies...now, I don't know what they are, or exactly where they are. I hate not knowing.

I mean to find out. I need to return to The Old Girl, I need to discover where Time went out of kilter, and I need to fix it."

"Like the Rift you mean...? I remember reading about it, convergent pathways, that gave alternative futures, depending on choices made, and parallel Universes were allowed to leach through?"

"Exactly!...you're good...Kate would be proud. Someone or something has been messing with Time, but it leaves traces, and if we can find those traces, we can follow them back, and put things right."

"Come on, my Clara," he reached for her hand, and she took it, he closed his long fingers around her own. "We need to save the World...you and I...are you with me?"

"Always, Doctor. Always."


	8. Chapter 8

Malcolm is really enjoying Beth's gig, then it all goes horribly wrong...

I wrote these scenes some months ago as stand alone scenes. To maybe be put into a Malcolm fic later. But I'm using them here as they fit. I had a tumblr conversation with antennapedia the other week after she wrote similar emotions in her excellent 'Owned' series. I very much see Malcolm as seeing weakness in himself and desperately trying to cover it with his outward persona. There is something inherently sad about his view of himself, but how he is trying to make some sense of it all and how he badly needs someone in his life, in order to feel safe, and, ultimately, whole.

 **Scene 19**

The WhiteLion was larger than he'd expected. Old fashioned, with chairs and tables dotted about, booths at the sides. Long redundant fireplaces, artfully filled with twigs and candles. A long wooden bar, with stools and a foot rest. Pewter tankards hanging along the bar-top. It had a cosy feel, though, a nice atmosphere of Old London.

At one end there was a raised platform, a mic and instruments already in place. There was quite a crowd in, more than a hundred people, maybe two, it was difficult to tell.

He ordered himself a Scotch and soda and took a seat, not at the front but close enough.

By the time the band came on the place was heaving.

She looked so different, skinny jeans and a motif T-shirt, converse instead of the rather prim skirts and blouses and low heels she wore for work. Slightly more make-up too and her hair, usually smooth and tipped up at the ends, was, tonight, a mass of curls. Christ! She was roughly the same age as him and she looked 10 years younger.

They kicked off with a couple of their own songs, fast moving, punchy. Her voice was more raspy than when he'd heard her before, powerful but a great timbre. They moved on to a cover of Magazine's Shot By Both Sides, which had a punky vibe to it.

Malcolm was enjoying this!

An acoustic version of Patti Smith's Because the Night, raw and emotional followed, then straight into a jazzy rendition of Roxy Music's Love is the Drug, where she sounded more like Ella. It was really good stuff. Launching into more of their own songs, the audience were mostly standing now, jigging and dancing, hands in the air. As Malcolm went to the bar to replenish his Scotch, she announced they were slowing things down. Their bass player took up a sax and she began to sing a cover of Hazel O'Connor's Will You...

You drink your coffee

And I sip my tea  
And we're sitting here  
Playing so cool  
Thinking, what will be will be

But's getting kind of late now  
Oh I wonder if you'll stay now,  
Stay now, stay now, stay now  
Or will you just politely  
Say goodnight.

I move a little closer to you  
Not knowing quite what to do  
And I'm feeling all finger and thumbs  
I spill my tea  
Oh silly me

But's getting kind of late now  
I wonder if you'll stay now,  
Stay now, stay now, stay now  
Or will you just politely  
Say goodnight.

And then we touch  
Much too much  
This moment has been waited for a long long time  
Make me shiver, 'n' makes me quiver  
This moment I'm so unsure  
This moment I've waited for  
Oh is it somerthing you've been waiting for  
Waiting for too

Take up your eyes  
Bare your soul  
Gather me to you  
And make me whole  
Tell me your secrets  
Sing me the song  
Sing it to me in the silent tongue

But's getting kind of late now  
I wonder if you'll stay now,  
Stay now, stay now, stay now  
Or will you just politely

Say goodnight.

Malcolm sat down heavily in the seat as the song began, it was quiet now, just the guitar and her voice and the sax playing the bridge.

He began to feel very strange indeed, the lyrics seemed to pierce him. A physical pain that seared. His chest constricted, throat tightened. He clenched his jaw hard and blinked a few times as his eyes swam. Fuck it, he was going to blub. In vain he tried to control it, but failed. Leaving his drink on the table, untouched, he slipped away, unnoticed.

 **Scene 20**

Key in the door, and in. Door slammed behind him. Dead bolt on. Thank fuck. He threw the keys onto the hall stand and stumbled into his living room. Emotion barely held in, all the way home. Waiting to burst.

Shit. What the fuck was wrong with him? It was a bloody song for Christ's sake.

Slowly it all began to cave in on him. Like a house of cards. So much shit.

Shouting sessions, where she'd laid into him for never being there, smacking him hard across the face, goading him to hit her back, but he wouldn't...he didn't hit on women, never would, anyway, he wouldn't give her the ammunition...it was actually his fault she'd had the affairs...affairs plural, there'd been more than one then...

Sleeping on the sofa, because she'd shut him out, she could sleep with randoms but not with him.

The meetings with the solicitors; how much she was going to get, what she was going to take...have fucking everything, I don't care, it's not about the money or the possessions.

Taking him to court, endless bickering and arguments, hatred and bitterness where once there had been love. Bad mouthing him to his own daughter, thank God Clara'd been old enough and discerning enough to see through the deception. Shoving all his faults in his face, everything he'd ever done wrong, or she thought he'd done wrong. Some of the cruel lies she'd come up with too, accusations, insinuations, he hadn't thought her capable of sinking so low. Then, suddenly; a piece of paper, arriving in an official envelope, one bloody scrap of worthless paper, which summed up all those fucking years of his life.

Traumatised. Stressed. Rejected.

So many feelings, emotions, held inside. Can't show them, especially not to Clara. She can't see her Dad like this. A man is strong, cannot show such weakness. Grief, held in, mourning as if he'd physically lost someone, hiding behind a mask of swearing and aggression. Then every now and again, something would just hit him, and it would all come flooding back, as it had now...just that bloody song. For fucks sake. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think...numb.

Then...nothing.

Emptiness.

Was it really two years? It felt like nine hundred. Nine hundred years alone at the end of the Universe.

No one to hold, no one to touch. So that now, a simple hug or the brush of a finger burned.

Waking up every morning by himself. Rolling over in bed at night and no one there. Putting the radio on, so that it filled the place with at least some sound, other than silence, background noise.

The fruitless hours he spent bashing his head against the wall at work. Being so fucking tired he could hardly stand up. Sleep...who needs sleep? A few hours here and there or a catnap.

Little things he missed, stupid things, like a vase of fresh flowers on the dining table, the smell of bacon cooking, while you are still lying in bed, curling up together and watching a movie, listening to the radio in the car when they went on a trip, and her crap taste in music, sharing a joke. Dressing up to go out for an evening, doing up her zipper, fastening her necklace. Perfume. The way she'd massage his shoulders after a long tiring day.

A lipstick on the hall stand, high heels by the chair.

Coming home to this dismal shitty flat that he hated but didn't seem able to summon the energy to leave, never really feeling warm, safe or at home here. Missing meals because he never really felt hungry or enjoyed the sensation of eating. Food shopping with a basket instead of a trolley, and he'd always enjoyed cooking...now he couldn't be arsed, it was fucking microwave meals for one...fuck fuck fuck.

He poured himself a glass of water, swallowed it down, he was shaking now, ashamed of himself, angry with himself, livid at his own lack of control. Furious that he couldn't control it, keep it down. A Jessie. That's what he was. A fucking Jessie.

 **FUCK!**

Hehurled the glass across the kitchen, shards flew everywhere, he sank his head against the counter and sobbed.

The doorbell rang.

Shit! She'd followed him home, because he'd left without a word...he wiped his face on the tea towel, pulled himself together as best he could, answered the door.

"Dad?"

"Fuck! Clara! I thought you were Beth."

"Dad, what's wrong? What's the matter? Oh, shit, what's happened?"

She flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tight...tight.

"I'm alright, Darl, I'm alright, just going a wee bit fucking apeshit here, that's all."

He tried to push her away.

She released him and he moved away, head hung in shame, unable to look her in the eye.

She headed to the kitchen.

"I'll pop the kettle on."

"No! Clara! I'll do it...I..."

Her feet crunched under her.

"Dad, there's broken glass everywhere...Dad, shit...Dad."

His head was in his hands, he was loosing control of his face, snot coming from his nose,

trembling...tears flowing again.

She sat him on the couch, and held him again. He blew air through his lips, trying to steady himself. She made tea, handed him a cold flannel to wipe his face.

"You can't go on like this, Dad, you really can't."

"I'm okay, my Clara, I just had a bit of a wobble, that's all. They happen. I'll be fine."

With a tremendous effort of will, he forced the feelings down and calmed himself.

It was after midnight when she was finally persuaded that he was recovered enough so she could leave.


	9. Chapter 9

When Beth discovers Malcolm has left suddenly, she's hurt and confused...and very disappointed!

I wrote Scene 22 several weeks ago and it fits in beautifully with this story, funny how you randomly write down a idea with no clear use for it, and then it's suddenly fitting! We find a little more of Beth's feelings in this chapter.

 **Scene 21**

It was not until the end of the gig, that Beth realised Malcolm was no longer there. She missed his face in the crowd and wasn't quite sure what to think.

Nor was she quite sure what to do. She didn't know him, at all, not really. He may have hated the music, and left before the end to avoid having to talk to her.

She sent him a text.

 _"Malcolm_

 _Just checking everything OK. Didn't see you at the end?_

 _Beth x"_

She received no reply.

All day Sunday, she felt very down. Struggling with her own lack of self-worth, and really unable to comprehend why Malcolm had not contacted her at all. Just a silence.

On Monday morning, she arrived at her desk, to find a small box sitting on top next to her computer.

It was a red velvet cupcake.

Attached was a brief note,

 _"Sorry, had to leave in a hurry. M. x"_

Shit!

Finding him gone had been terribly disappointing, she'd hoped to be able to maybe share a drink afterwards, ask him how he thought the gig had gone.

Fleetingly, she'd toyed with the idea of going to his home, but thought better of it.

After the adrenaline rush of the singing, the sheer liberation of being up there, doing something she loved, the come down, with no one to share it with, was painful, to say the least.

Arriving home, she really didn't want to go to bed. She couldn't cry, not any more. She'd cried so many tears.

In the past, she and James discussed each number, how she could improve, which songs worked well, and which didn't get such a good response. Now she was alone.

After James's death everyone had been terribly protective, helpful, kind and sweet. Then, after a while they'd begun to drift back to their own lives, as they should, she guessed.

Later, she realised, her group of friends stopped asking her to the regular dinner parties they held?

Why?

Because it was awkward, that's why. They were all couples, she was one, it made an odd number...

One of her old girlfriends even crossed the road to avoid her in the street, hadn't realised she'd noticed, but she had...it was embarrassing you see, people didn't know what to say to you any more.

Both her children and their partners, invited her to theirs, included her in their lives, and she knew they loved her, but she didn't want to become a needy, clingy, burden to them...

They ended up being quite severe with her, it was true she'd been a mess.

From the time of her husband's diagnosis till his demise, she had been unfailingly strong, optimistic, tough as nails. Taking each blow as it came, and fighting on, cornered but unbowed. When it finally came down to his passing, she had, pretty much, fallen apart.

Her life was over. She was fifty. She was never going to meet anyone, the odds against it were stacked.

There were many hang ups associated with that too...did thinking about dating someone, mean she was looking for a replacement? No one could replace him, he was her soul mate, the love of her life.

Did she even want to date anyone, ever again? It was such hard work, like being 16 again.

Was she capable of giving love, in any form, to someone else? And if the answer was 'yes' did that betray her husband's memory?

What would her children think of someone new in her life?

"Mum, you need to get yourself out there, it's time!" Her daughter had said.

Easy for her to say, Beth never went anywhere to meet that someone, she wasn't about to stand on street corners, nor was she going to put herself through the trauma of meeting potential desperate weirdos online.

Bars and clubs weren't really her scene, and the people who went to them were either much younger or mostly out for a quick shag. Going out alone, even if she was meeting a girlfriend, she always felt uneasy, vulnerable.

No, she might as well face it, being alone was to be, undoubtedly, her lot.

She had her job, thank god, which helped to keep her sane, got her out of the house and interacting with other humans!

Now, she had the singing, although even that had been difficult to go back to, not having anyone to share the highs with. And that was pretty much it.

Then, suddenly, Malcolm breezed along, and he seemed...nice. Something about him struck a chord with her, even when she thought him married and would definitely not go there, she'd thought him attractive. He was certainly charismatic, interesting, and intelligent. Work was the last place she'd expected to meet anyone, but he paid her attention, and she found she actually enjoyed that.

Today, five o'clock just couldn't come quick enough. Mostly she managed to keep everything tight. A mask of composure, letting everyone at the office see how well she was coping. From the time she'd gone back to work, some four months after James's death, she'd kept up this facade, she became extremely good at it. The trick was, not to let it slip, she sometimes told herself that several times a day. Her worst times were after work was over, in the evening or at night, and at weekends, especially if everyone else was busy and she needed to fill the time.

This day was different, however, this day was shit, the shittiest shit day imaginable.

It was just the bloody disappointment.

Finding out that Malcolm wasn't married after all, had been quite a pleasant surprise, she had allowed herself to think he might actually be interested in her, especially as he seemed to be going out of his way to join her for coffee, ask her to lunch, and then to dinner. She wanted nothing from him, except a conversation...that was all, and she'd built herself up for it. Coming off the stage, asking him how he thought it went, like she used to, when she was normal, before she became a professional fucking widow.

She glanced up at the clock for the billionth time, and began packing away her papers, and tidying her desk.

Aware of someone watching, she looked up a second time, Malcolm was standing, leaning on the door frame.

Frankly, he looked haggard.

Dark circles under his eyes, hair all sticky uppy.

His expression was that of a whipped puppy. Downcast, guilty, sad.

"Busy?"

"Just about to leave. Thanks for the cake. You needn't have bothered. A reply to my text would have sufficed."

"I'm sorry Beth. Really. Something came up...suddenly."

She stopped her paper shuffling and looked at him sharply.

"Lying too? Fucking great! Thanks Malcolm."

He sighed resignedly. Either she was really good at reading him, or he was a very bad liar...he'd always thought himself rather good.

"Okay, I owe you an explanation, but not here. Not now. Please would you come for a walk with me?"

She slid on her jacket. Shouldered her handbag. And huffed.

"Alright, but it had better be good."

 **Scene 22**

They left the building together, walking in tandem, brisk, side by side. Neither spoke. No one took much notice of either of them.

Crossing Whitehall he turned towards the Embankment, then slowed his pace slightly. He leaned heavily against the parapet for a moment, gazing out across the river.

They walked on after a while, him clutching his ever present sheaf of files and papers to his chest. He seemed to be working towards a momentous speech, but said nothing.

Eventually, Beth laid a hand on his sleeve.

"Malcolm? Really... it doesn't matter. I was just really disappointed that's all."

He turned his steely glance towards her.

"No!" He said, very quietly." It does matter. It matters a great deal. If you must know, I made a prat of myself. Almost started blubbing, it was that song, had to get out, get home, couldn't sit there and listen. Sorry."

Her hand remained on his arm, and tightened slightly, he looked down at it as if it were a foreign object.

"Oh, Malcolm! I'm so sorry. Some songs do that to me too, sometimes...if they catch me unawares."

He looked at her, surprised...she understood, she knew.

"Yeah, well, I was fucking enjoying it, until then!"

"You were? Oh, I'm so glad."

She smiled and drew a little closer, folding her arm under his elbow.

"You were bloody brilliant, and you looked amazing!"

She blushed scarlet.

"Listen, I know you probably think I'm a monumental cunt, but do you think we could kinda, rewind, and start again? I'd like to ask you to dinner, a proper date, no ambiguity, a date date. At mine, I'll cook."

"That sounds really nice, I accept."

They strolled for a long way, not really noticing the distance. Side by side, close, but not touching. He told her about his divorce, difficult for him though it was.

"It's fucked me up Beth. Going out with me is gonna be a roller coaster, I'm afraid. But I have to be honest from the start. No more lies. Otherwise, there's no point."

Sharing the death of her husband with a relative stranger was a huge step for Beth too, but tell him she did. He was silent, taking it all in.

"So, you see, I'm as screwed up as you are." She said sadly.

"But if you are up for this , then so am I...we can stick two fingers up to the world!"

"You may just have made a massive boyfriend error." He laughed.

"You're not my boyfriend...yet!" She responded, "you may not cut the mustard!"

Malcolm raised his eyebrows, comically.

"Well, there's no rush, let's take our time. See how it goes, yeah?"

"Sounds eminently sensible. So, when do you want to cook me this dinner?"

"How about Thursday?"

"Okay, shall I be round about half seven?"

"Better make it eight, give me plenty of time to prepare."

"Eight it is then...Malcolm, I hate to mention this, but we've walked nearly two miles, my feet are killing me in these bloody shoes."


	10. Chapter 10

Malcolm is formulating his plans for ousting Nicola. It is taking up all his time and concentration. So much so that when Thursday comes...

I wrote scene 24 before I'd written any of the others. It was the first thing that came into my head and I needed to get it down on paper. Almost the whole of the rest of this story has formed around this one scene. So for me it is the best scene, not because of the quality, but because it was the catalyst that started the whole creative process.

 **Scene 23**

Malcolm Tucker was plotting.

In all the years he'd worked in politics, never had he done anything so low, so underhand. His motives may be sound, but his methods stunk to high heaven.

He needed to persuade others to jump overboard with him, which would mean the possible destruction of others careers too.

Ben Swain was a prize idiot, it would not be difficult to bring him into the mix, then he could be unceremoniously dumped. Ollie Reeder, who Malcolm knew to be a conniving, mean spirited, manipulative wanker, would also help, particularly if it enhanced his own prospects, and his ultimate goal, which was to usurp Malcolm's position. Ollie would be able to pull in favours from ex colleagues like Glenn Cullen, who wouldn't say no.

Malcolm despised Dan Miller, a slimy, toady; self serving and ruthlessly ambitious, he must be set up as Nicola's successor. He moved the pieces on the metaphorical chess board like a Grand Master.

And what of Malcolm himself? His careful schemes would not include saving himself. Beth had hit the nail on the head, at the restaurant...career suicide, that's what it would be, but it was the only way. He didn't even have the desire to win...no, he would rid the country of Nicola, then he would throw himself on his own sword. His loyalty to his Party no longer mattered to him. What happened to him afterwards was not important. He knew that faster, younger, more driven jackals were already circling. Ready to feed on the husk that was now his carcass.

He no longer wanted to be a part of this world. In securing Murray's downfall, he would contrive to engineer his own.

He was not sure how he would achieve his aims as yet, but wheels were in motion, he was brewing his lethal potion, and when he was ready, everyone would have to drink it, including himself.

Scared. He was shit scared. This had been his life for so long, he knew nothing else. But in the two years since his divorce, he'd dared to imagine there may be an existence beyond the pale.

Fuck it all, he'd work in Burger King if necessary.

What if he was fated to be permanently by himself? He'd just have to deal with it. No job, no legacy, no real friends, what an epitaph for a man's life! They'd taken it all, and fucked him royally along the way. He just couldn't be arsed anymore.

He closed his laptop, and replaced his blackberry in his jacket pocket.

Nicola Murray would fall, and it would be at his behest, he would make certain he gave her a good hard shove!

He left the office, and walked without intent, he wandered away from Whitehall, towards Trafalgar Square and along the Strand, heading towards Covent Garden. There were street performers in the old fruit market square, jugglers, acrobats, he stood for a while and watched. He needed to get home. He felt grubby, both physically and mentally. Filthy...dirty...he wanted a shower, although he knew he still wouldn't feel clean. He hated himself with all the hate he could muster. How could he possibly expect anyone else to like him, to love him, when he couldn't like or love himself.

 **Scene 24**

Thursday.

The flat was a converted semi, quiet, and convenient. Chosen more as a place to crash than for aesthetics, she thought.  
She parked the car, walked up the front path and rang the doorbell.  
Nothing.  
She stepped back and listened. Sounds came from inside, scuffling and a thud, followed by a curse.  
She rang again.  
Hurried footsteps, and the door was opened, just a little.  
His tousled head peeped through the gap. Hot, sweaty and weary looking, he stood there, looking at her.  
She saw a flurry of different thoughts pass across his face, clear to see.  
Recognition...confusion...realisation.  
"Shit!"  
She arched her eyebrows playfully.  
"You've forgotten?"  
He scratched his head thoughtfully, then the hand strayed down his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
"Bollocks!...it's been such a manic day, I've only just got in."  
He didn't step back or open the door further.  
"Er...We could do this another time, it's no big deal..."  
A look of shame passed over his countenance.  
"Christ! Where are my manners? Talk about how to win friends..."  
He stepped backwards and opened the door fully, allowing her to enter the hallway.  
"I'm really sorry..." He mumbled apologetically.  
"I take it dinner's off then?..."  
"Fuck! I haven't even...oh God, I'm hopeless."  
She looked at him with a pitying expression, he REALLY needed a wash...and she was starving hungry.  
"Look...tell you what, why don't I go down to the little supermarket at the end of the road, and get us something, while you jump in the shower...then we'll eat? How does that sound?"  
He gave her a look of mixed gratitude and humility, ruffling his hair again.  
"That sounds fantastic..."  
"As Arnie said, I'll be back!" She laughed.

The kitchen had only rudimentary utensils, she gathered it was more intended for students than for the likes of him. The place was clean enough but it had a rather gloomy air and very little that could be described as ambiance.  
He emerged from the shower, pink and shiny, rubbing his head vigorously with a towel. Black jeans, skull motif t-shirt. He looked so different out of a suit.  
The oven whirred alarmingly when she switched it on, but it seemed to work okay. Inside two pieces of salmon were soon poaching in white wine, wrapped in foil parcels. A wok containing vegetables and bean sprouts were being busily stir fried, a bowl of avocado and creme fraiche sauce, which she had just finished making to go with the fish, sat on the counter.  
She handed him a glass.  
"I wasn't sure what you'd like, they didn't have a great deal of choice, so I went for pretty standard stuff." She said, turning to him.  
"That's Pinot...not brilliant, but it's nicely chilled."  
He slung the towel aside and sipped, gratefully.  
"Umm, not bad!" He said.  
"Fish only takes twenty minutes, so it'll soon be ready."  
They sat opposite each other, at the little kitchen table, eating, drinking, chatting easily. Considering they really hardly knew each other, that was a bonus.

After they'd eaten they sat side by side on the couch, in his living room, sharing the wine, both talking animatedly,

"No more for me, I've got to drive home. Speaking of which...what time is it?"

"Nearly twelve."

"Good, grief, I must leave, you'll have an early start tomorrow?"

He nodded.

"It's been really nice, I hadn't realised it was so late, sorry!"

Neither had noticed the time, so intent had they been on the conversation, looking through his CD's, discussing the music they liked, TV, theatre, art...it seemed they had a great deal in common.

He walked her to the front door. They stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure.

He leaned down to kiss her on the mouth, as she reached to kiss him on both cheeks...they smacked noses. They both stepped back, laughing, each rubbing the spot, she swallowed visibly and he tried again, this time his lips touched hers, only for a few seconds, just a glance, lingering but not really moving. But his eyes closed. She smelled so good, his stomach gave a lurch.

She pulled back, her hand against his shirt, pushing him back slightly.

"Night Malcolm." She said, her voice uncertain.

"Night, and thanks for cooking, sorry I'm such an idiot!"

"Don't be silly! Next time maybe you could come to me and I'll cook properly. And I won't forget!" She looked at him expectantly.

"Next time?...There'll be a next time, after tonight's fiasco?...I'd really like that."

He stood in the light of the porch until she'd driven away.

Closing the front door, he reached for his phone and dialled.

"Hi, love...it's me, did I wake you?"

"It's gone midnight, Dad, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just wanted to tell you something."

"What?"

"I actually think I've found a keeper, I thought I'd blown it, but now I think it might be okay."

"Oh my God! Really? What happened?"

"Well, I forgot about our date."

Clara groaned.

"But it was alright, she was brilliant about it. But we've had such a nice evening and..."

"And...?"

"Well...I kissed her...a bit...and she didn't seem to object, in fact she kinda kissed me back."

"Oh, Dad, I'm so pleased. That's brilliant! And about bloody time!


	11. Chapter 11

Before the swap, Clara and The Doctor are together in the Tardis.

Malcolm has his proper 'date date' and remembers to turn up...

Scene 26 is another that I wrote very early on, as a drabble for another Malcolm story, originally, or as a stand alone. It fits in here as Malcolm and Beth draw closer...

 **Scene 25.**

Those momentsof calm before the storm. Clara loved those times.

When the door of the Tardis closed on whatever world or whatever time they had visited, and wrapped herself around them like a cocoon.

Inside she felt there was nothing to fear, it was just her...and The Doctor. Together. Safe.

She seated herself next to him, on the lumpy old leather couch in the Library. It was her favourite place, and, by extension, his.

His arm was snaked around her shoulder and she leaned into him and sighed.

This was something they did now too, along with the hand holding, and the hugging, and the occasional sweet kiss. They did the 'curled together snuggling' thing.

Usually it was at the end of what passed for a day, if you could separate day from night, week from week, in this strange existence.  
She would go to the kitchen, while he took a shower, then they'd come together in the library and have cocoa, biscuits and snuggle. It was good.

"When are we going back to, time wise, Doctor." She asked lazily.

"Well, I'm going to try for about six months before the election. As near as damn it." He replied, his fingers tightened slightly where they rested, just where her shoulder and arm met.

"From the UNIT Archive and the Tardis scanner, the fracture seems to be centred around that time frame, as the catalyst, it's where our Mr Tucker's allegiances begin to change. He turns against his own Party Leader. His attitude becomes almost polarised, and there has to be a reason for it. He's acting out of character, even for him."

"I think there's a lot more to him than meets the eye." She said, raising her head. "I like him."

The Timelord smiled an indulgent smile.

"He's certainly a force of nature."

"I'd expect nothing less, considering he has your face. Is that what you'd be like if you were human?"

"He's a person of principle, strong willed, but with a softer side...a strangely compelling masculine figure...so I guess the answer is 'yes'! "

Clara laughed and punched his arm playfully.

"Modest too!" She giggled...then became more serious,

"Well, I hope we do it right, and that he is okay at the end of it. I want him to be happy, he deserves to be."

The Doctor frowned thoughtfully.

"Yes...yes he does. I hope he's okay too. There's a vulnerability about him, he needs someone."

"A bit like you?"

He looked down into the depths of those huge brown eyes.

"A bit like me." He replied, and kissed her cheek gently.

 **Scene 26**

Malcolm was nervous. He felt like a 15 year old who'd fancied a girl at school for six months and had finally asked her out. His palms were sweaty. He couldn't decide what to wear.

Should he buy chocolates, or flowers, or chocolates AND flowers?

Wine...he should take a bottle of wine...that was _de rigueur._ If he arrived on her doorstep with that lot, he'd look like fucking Father Christmas. Christ! This was ridiculous.

He showered and shaved, put on some chinos with a plain shirt and a light cardigan. Tamed his unruly hair.

Was a dash of After Shave too obvious? No! Fuck it, just a little, something light. Didn't want to smell like a tart's boudoir!

He bought a good bottle of red. A bunch of small pink roses, nothing too ostentatious. Hailed a taxi.

Malcolm never drove in London, if he was planning on drinking, even if he was under the limit. In his working life he had a car and driver, but he never abused the privilege. He took the tube sometimes, when he was feeling at one with the proletariat. Otherwise it was a black cab.

Her house was nice, a leafy street, nice area, similar to what he'd had...before.

She answered his ring on the doorbell immediately, and he gave her the flowers, blustering about not knowing what to bring.

She seemed genuinely touched by the gesture.

Her dress was simple, fitted her well, she had nice curves still, he thought. Not too much makeup, just subtle, shoulder length hair smooth and tipped up at the ends, attractive. A hint of perfume, Chanel No 5, he recognised it, although his ex-wife never cared for it. He'd bought it for her once, on their anniversary, because he loved the smell of it, but she never even used it, she preferred Dior.

He followed her into the kitchen, stood awkwardly while she found a vase and she poured him some wine. Delicious aromas filled the room...he sniffed appreciatively.

"Smells great."

They clinked glasses and sipped.

"I'm glad you bought red, I've made Beef Wellington."

To sit opposite a fine looking woman, drinking wine; eating, (what was frankly), restaurant quality food, chatting easily, not feeling self conscious, or tongue tied...fuck, it felt so nice. He felt, he felt...human.

"Would you like dessert now, or wait a bit?"

He sat back in the chair, tapping his belly in a contented way,

"I need a break." He puffed.

"For a tall man, you have a small appetite." She observed.

"Can't eat a huge plateful, frightens the life out of me! Used to love my food, not so much now. Don't get much time to eat, and when I do I'm not really hungry."

"No wonder you're like a stick insect! There's nothing of you."

"Used to love to cook too, once...maybe I could still cook for you sometime? Promise I won't forget you're coming though!"

"I'd like that," she chuckled, "I never get a meal cooked for me these days. But I do like to make the effort to cook for myself, not so much fun for one though."

After what he could only describe as 'sublime' tiramisu, they vacated the dining table and moved to the living room.

Should he sit beside her? Or opposite, in the armchair? He hesitated, wine glass in hand.

She saw his dilemma, and said, quietly.

"You can sit beside me Malcolm, I promise I won't bite you."

He smiled, uncertainly, his eyes with that puppy expression again, and took a seat, a respectable distance from her, but close enough to touch, if he reached out.

"It's hard isn't it?"

"What?" He replied sharply, trying not to glance down at his lap.

It was true, he was.

Not a little, 'I fancy you a bit' hard, but 'out of his fucking mind' hard.

Jesus...he prayed she wouldn't look down at his groin. Where the fuck had that come from? Talk about mind of its own.

"It's hard...to meet new people, when you've lost someone. You don't know how to play it!"

"Oh!" He breathed anew, "God, yeah, it's fucking impossible, fuck if I know what I'm doing. You'll tell me if I'm being a dick, yeah?"

"You're fine, Malcolm, trust me. You're more than fine."

She closed her hand over his, as it rested, palm down, on his thigh. He turned his hand over and encircled her fingers with his own.

Glancing up at her, he swallowed. Their eyes locked.

"I...I...shit!"

He blew out through his open mouth, puffing out his cheeks, as one does sometimes when they feel faint.

His face was blanched, pale, with a sheen of perspiration on his top lip. Her hand still held in his.

"Fuck it, I feel..."

"Emotional?"

"Yeah! Fuck!"

"Me too. It's all a bit much, isn't it?"

He leaned in towards her, closing the distance between them, her hand left his own and rested against his chest. Their lips came together, almost as a whisper, touching gently, then a little harder, as he gained confidence, his fingers brushing her cheek, the other hand resting on her forearm.

He could see her eyes were closed, skin flushed slightly, her hand pushed him gently back after a while and she leaned away.

His head felt strange, light and almost floating. He could feel his heart pumping thick and fast. He was shaking.

"I've wanted to do that for a while." He said, his own voice sounded odd to his ears.

"I've wanted you to do it too." She murmured, her eyes downcast, lashes sweeping her face.

"I'm scared, Malcolm," she said suddenly, looking up, a waver in her speech,

"I don't know if I'm ready for this, or if I can do it. It feels so odd, someone that's not James. Do you know what I mean?"

"Look, Beth, I'm not going to pressurise you into anything you don't want to do, okay? Take all the time you need. We don't have to do anything. It's just the same for me. I've not been with anyone since...shit! Look at me, I'm shaking like a leaf for Christ's sake."

He held out his trembling hands in front of him, fingers splayed...her eyes were swimming as he looked into them, a single tear hung at the edge of her lower lid for a moment then coursed down her face.

"Kiss me again." She whispered.


	12. Chapter 12

Carrying on directly from the previous scene, with scene 27. Then the morning after with scene 28.

The rating goes up to M in this posting. So please be aware of that.

Malcolm and Beth move into unplanned territory and there's no going back...

 **Scene 27**

Despite all her misgivings, as to what she wanted and how she felt, Beth could feel her blood rise at his touch, she could feel her own pulse through her neck and down her chest as his mouth moved against her own.

The wall of guilt she'd built around herself, the doubt, the denial, began to dissolve and melt away. She felt alive. The numbness that haunted her, waking and sleeping, was fading, being forced back, so that her skin tingled, muscles trembled, breathing increased.

This wasn't planned.

She didn't really know how they found their way upstairs, she had a vague recollection of leading him, by the hand, of him following willingly, his expression a mixture of suppressed desire and anxiety.

He seemed reluctant to break the contact between their lips, as he laid her back, onto the bed, cushioning her with his arms as he did so. His body partly over hers.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

"I'm sure Malcolm." The small sound that left his lips when she replied, sent a thrill right through her.

Shaking fingers fumbled with each other's clothes, it was not a frenzied, feverish thing, instead it was slow, exploratory, hesitant and passionate.

"I didn't come prepared for this...I don't have anything, no condom..."

His voice was wavering, uncertain, almost frightened.

"Malcolm, I haven't had a period since James died...neither of us have had sex for longer than we both care to admit...I think you're pretty safe!"

"Sorry," he murmured, " I didn't want to just assume..."

"It's fine. You're a gentleman, and I appreciate it. Thank you..."

They were both naked now, each drinking in the sight of the other, relishing the sensation, the touch of skin to skin, the heat between them. It was intoxicating.

At his first intimate touch, she gasped aloud, head back, neck exposed to him,

"Oh my God!" She cried.

"You okay...?"

"Jesus! Yes, I'm okay...it's just really..."

"Intense?"

"Yeah!...shit, slow down, or you'll make me come, I'm not going to be able to hold it..."

Her body was already rising and falling in tune with the rhythm of his fingers, she whimpered against his lips, wantonly.

He hummed with appreciation as she closed her hand around his cock, stroking upwards, across the engorged head, then down again.

"Make love to me Malcolm...please! I want you...so badly."

"God, I'm not going to last either," he managed to pant out, "It's a fucking long time since I've been this turned on."

He'd been able to feel that she was loosing control, as soon as his fingers found her, she was moving against him and moaning desperately.

Guiding himself into her, and thrusting forwards, his whole body pulsed with an electric current, he cried out, loud, feral, almost a howl.

"Oh fuck! Fuck! Beth..."

He was moving now, inside her, on the edge almost immediately, hovering, teetering; then pulsing, exploding, violently, movement erratic, as she came hard beneath him, eyes tightly closed, mouth open.

"Malcolm...! God...!"

For the first time in over two years for both of them, they woke and found they were not alone.

She was curled against his chest, their legs entangled. Warm, dozing, blissful.

Fuck it all, he felt safe.

She made him feel that, and he hadn't felt it for so long. Years in the wilderness, felt like nine hundred years. He was on the brink of blubbing again. A small sob seeped from him.

"Mmmmm?" She opened her eyes, hair awry, but glorious, sensual.

"Hey!" He whispered, swallowing down the emotion and pulling her closer,

"You okay?"

"Better than okay...but I'm starving! You hungry?"

He suddenly realised he was. Ravenous. And he'd slept all night...not waking once, not even to pee, not needing to rise before five, as he almost always did.

In fact it was nearly seven. And he didn't care.

"Breakfast? Or a cuddle? Or a cuddle followed by breakfast?" She said, moving her hip toward his own.

His cock answered the question for him.

Seated at her kitchen table, with a proper cafetière in front of him, and bacon, eggs and toast, watching the fluidity of her movement, as she dished up, poured juice, tucked her hair behind one ear, he felt he'd died and gone to heaven. He was in real danger of wanting this far too much...real danger.

"You're staring." She licked marmalade from her index finger.

"Sorry!" He said, somewhat shamefaced,

"It's good, this...what we're doing? Tell me it's good, yeah?"

She regarded him for a moment, then crossed behind him where he sat, placing her arms around his neck, her face close to his own, and planted a kiss on his neck.

"It's good Malcolm." She said, simply.

 **Scene 28**

Several text messages, four of them from Clara.

 _Dad_

 _Where_ _are_ you? _Tried your home phone. Call me._

 _Clara xx_

 _Dad_

 _I've tried your mobile three times, left you a voice mail._

 _Guessing/hoping you have no signal._

 _Clara xx_

 _Ok Dad_

 _It's two in the morning and you've not called me, seriously worried now._

 _For fucks sake ring or text me so I know you're ok_

 _Clara...going mental xxx_

 _Dad._

 _Right, one more hour and I'm ringing the police._

 _I don't know where the fuck you are and I'm really scared now._

 _Your Clara xxx_

Malcolm read the messages.

"Shit, I think I'm in trouble!"

Beth laughed.

"Ring her, now! At least you have someone you know cares about you Malcolm."

So angry was his daughter when he called, especially after the scare he'd given her after Beth's gig, that he had to hold the phone away from his ear, with a hang dog expression as she ranted at him.

The only word he managed to butt in was...

"Sorry"...rant, rave..."sorry"...shout, scream..."sorry!"

He hung up, suitably admonished.

"It's like she's the parent and I'm the child!" He grimaced.

"Such a bossy boots, and a control freak! "

"She's just worried about you, I'd have been the same, if you'd suddenly dropped off the radar after two odd years of calling her nearly every day!"

She cleared the breakfast things away.

"Come on, lover boy, shift your backside...we need to get to work."

"No! Fuck it. I'm not going in today. Malcolm Tucker has left the building. It's Friday, I'm taking one of the, oh, let's see...3 months of unused holiday I'm owed? I'm having a long weekend. Let the wankers get on with it. They can do without me for one day."

Beth was ashamed of herself. Very ashamed. She phoned in sick.

She, who was, 'Beth, I never do anything dishonest'...pulled a sickie, and spent the day with Malcolm.

They caught the river boat at Westminster Pier and chugged lazily down to Kew. They shared a pub lunch, sitting under the shade of an umbrella, with a glass of wine, watching the world go by.

Late in the afternoon, having called by Malcolm's place, so he could grab some fresh clothes, they went back to hers, and back to bed, where they indulged in some, as Malcolm later described it, pretty amazing sex!

In the evening he took her out to dinner, one of his favourite restaurants near Covent Garden. Afterwards, they just strolled, hand in hand. They talked, a great deal. Laughed, frequently. Just relishing the togetherness, the newness of it all. It was good.


	13. Chapter 13

It is now public knowledge that Malcolm and Beth are together. Their relationship causes quite a stir...

A little nod here to Family of Blood, where David Tennant's Doctor becomes John Smith, and says to Martha, in a video, that he doesn't want to eat pears...

These two scenes are really by way of a small hiatus. The calm before the storm. The first with Malcolm and Beth, the second with Clara and the Doctor, two relationships, both developing in tandem...

 **Scene 29**

So, Malcolm Tucker and Elizabeth Ferguson were an item. There was really no point in hiding the fact. Neither of them wanted to be dodging their work colleagues or being cloak and dagger about their relationship.

The girls in Beth's office were very offish about it all. Positively venomous. Most were considerably younger than her, and eyebrows were raised at the sight of him sweeping through, passing their desks, to her little cubby hole, whispers as they left together to go to lunch, or at the end of the day, it caused a great deal of spiteful chitchat. They were, frankly, jealous. If Malcolm was aware of the aura that surrounded him, to this office full of mainly thirty-something women, he certainly never showed it. They seemed irked in the extreme, that he'd gone for Beth as opposed to one of them!

From Malcolm's point of view, he neither noticed, nor cared what they thought. He would never have even glanced twice at any of these vacuous air heads.

Beth, herself, basking in a glow of unexpected happiness, and a new found feeling of security, that Malcolm somehow gave her, although he did not yet know it, was not much concerned by their reaction either. She'd never really fitted in, she was older, she was a widow, she was over qualified for the job, and therefore smarter...and her colleagues were intimidated by that.

No one who worked downstairs alongside 'The Velociraptor' would even dare to say anything to his face. Anything they did say was well out of earshot.

When Beth met Clara for the first time, the young woman pulled her into a tight hug.

"Thank you for making my Dad so happy. He's so different with you."

She whispered into Beth's ear, so that Malcolm didn't hear.

Beth could barely refrain from choking up.

They were in the garden at Beth's house. For a barbecue. Her two children were there too, with their own partners, the atmosphere was a relaxed one. There was a great deal of banter about 'old people' dating, and how it was like watching two lovestruck teenagers. Lots of miming of fingers down the throat, when Malcolm pulled Beth into a kiss.

It was a domestic scene that none of the young people thought would ever be again. They stood together in a group watching their respective parents interacting; she was standing, shoulder to shoulder with him, as he presided over the sausages. He quipped a joke and they both roared with laughter, heads back, gleeful. The looks between them, the smiles, the laughter, Clara almost had to fight back tears.

None of them had realised, until this moment, just how lonely they'd both really been. How they'd managed to get through all their trials and come out the other side. Bruised and battered, but not defeated. They were heroes, all there was to it.

 **Scene 30**

Clara wandered listlessly into the console room. All she could see of the Doctor was the soles of his boots, sticking out from underneath the centre column panel. The top of the panel had been removed. Wires and spring like coils spilled out of the exposed void, likea creature's entrails.

He emerged and straightened up, brushing dust from his knees.

"What's all this?" She enquired.

"Just some last minute adjustments."

She sat down on the stairs next to where he was working, as he began to solder lengths of wire together then use his sonic to scan the connections he'd made.

Waistcoat off and slung casually over the railing, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, top button undone.

She mused on the way the fabric clung to the curve of his back and shoulder blades as he reached for things, the way he idly ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, then letting it spring back into place. The way his tongue poked out of his mouth and licked his lips as he concentrated.

"Have you nothing better to do?" He asked, as if fully aware of her gaze.

"Nope. I like the view from here. Thank you!" She replied.

He huffed, but refrained from comment.

"Are you sure this is safe? Could you loose the Timelord part of you forever, if something goes wrong? That couldn't happen could it?"

"Everything carries a risk Clara. But I've done this before, successfully, so I can do it again."

There was a sudden flash and a spark.

"Damn and blast!" He cursed.

He sucked his stinging fingers, brows furrowed. Then shook his hand vigorously.

"You okay?"

"Fine!" He muttered.

He disappeared underneath the panel again, backside in the air.

Clara smirked appreciatively, head to one side.

Some moments later he reappeared, flushed and with a streak of black on his face.

"See anything you like?" He queried sarcastically.

Clara blushed, quailing under the intense stare.

"Maybe..." She said.

He gave a wry smile, despite himself and continued unperturbed,

"Once I'm wired into this contraption," he waved his hand towards the apparatus nonchalantly,

"I will forget everything...I'll only know Malcolm. Whatever happens, DO NOT let me eat pears. I hate pears."

Clara laughed.

"Okay, Doctor, no pears, I promise."

"What about me, how does my memory wipe work?"

"It's not a wipe exactly, and it's easier with you, the Tardis will do all the work. Imagine it as being under the influence of Derren Brown...only on steroids! Just as he might click his fingers to wake you, there will be a trigger for your mind, and you will recognise the Tardis when she rematerialises. I'm sure the Old Girl will come up with a way to help you from there."

He began pushing the wires and connectors back inside the panel.

"Think I'm just about done here. Fancy dinner?"

"Okay...where?"

"Oh, I know a lovely little place, by the waterside, except the water is pink and there are two moons in the evening sky. The restaurant floats above it. They make wonderful cocktails."

"Sounds like fun."

"I know all the best places for a date."

"You're taking me on a date?"

He looked at her shyly and shrugged.

"If you want..."

"I want..." She smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

The next two scenes follow the announcement of Mr Tickel's death, and Malcolm swings into action...

These are probably the most important scenes in the story. Especially 32. The gist of the whole scene is taken directly from The Thick of It. The order in which it takes place meticulously researched. I have not recorded the entire episode, but some of the dialogue and the way the scene comes together is entirely from Armando's script. Only the call to Simon Hewitt is my own invention, as a way for Malcolm to set himself up for a fall, and engineer his own demise, so that he can walk away from politics. This is the only story of Malcolm's fall where I have used this stance...subconsciously I think it is The Doctor's influence because he feels Malcolm will self destruct if he carries on working as he has, and needs a way out, with no possible comeback, and what better way to achieve that than to finish yourself?

 **Scene 31**

Dates followed dates. Sometimes outings or dinners, but often just at her place. Usually at her place, because he hated his own. Although now, he was actively looking for a house or flat to buy, and move from the dingy rented home that was only supposed to be a temporary stop gap.

Beth knew...felt, that momentous times were coming up for Malcolm. Times when he would need all the support he could get. She would be there for him. It was going to be the toughest thing he'd ever have to face. Divorce notwithstanding. He was engineering the downfall of his Party Leader, effectively preventing her from being elected as Prime Minister, it could not possibly happen without repercussions.

As the weeks passed, Malcolm came to the inevitable conclusion that he was in love. He found himself thinking about her constantly, when they were not together, he often reached for his phone to send her a text, then thought better of it. He'd not said the words to Beth yet, barely admitting it to himself. But he started to think more about his future. His work days were numbered. His own downfall assured, he himself would see to it, somehow. What would he do with his life when it was all over? As long as Beth was a part of it, he didn't really care much. He had money, savings. His ex-wife hadn't got her claws on everything. His half of their house sale, was safely invested. Since he'd been alone, he had nothing much to spend his money on, so he hadn't. It was, pretty much, all still there. He would have the luxury of being able to make decisions, plan and not be rushed.

He wasn't sure if he ever wanted to marry again, he wasn't sure Beth did either, but he wanted them to be together. There was no way he could describe his feelings when he was with her. The key word for him was, safe, she made him feel safe, he'd thought it right from that first night. And it meant so much. She made that constant feeling of being on the edge of a cliff, about to fall, disappear. There was a cocoon of calm assurance about her, that enveloped him. He found he could think clearly, concentrate...just be.

Then, the unforeseeable occurred. An event which would set in motion wheels that even Malcolm couldn't possibly have envisaged. It would do most of his work for him, and also provide him with a way out, one that hadn't previously occurred to him...he could, effectively, finish his own career, totally and completely, no way back, no quarter given. He would be a pariah, an outcast, a political has been, he could walk away without a single glance back. He could start again. Rebuild his life, fresh, new and unsullied. A thrill of fear pulsed through him.

Mr. Tickel died.

He died ostensibly because of a policy failure. A policy which Nicola had, once, briefly supported...

 **Scene 32**

Malcolm sent Beth a text, as soon as the news of Mr Tickel got out.

 _Beth._

 _Today's the day. It's gonna be a shit storm._

 _Think of me._

 _M. x_

She replied immediately.

 _Malc._

 _All day. Come to mine when it's over._

 _I love you._

 _B. x_

Fuck it all, she'd said the L word. He read the text again...and again. No mistake. She said she loved him.

He sat down at his desk, still staring at the phone. Then he sent the same text to Clara so she'd know too, and copied Beth's reply in with it.

His phone trilled within moments.

 _Dad._

 _Whatever happens today, at least you know we BOTH love you._

 _I'll be watching the news bulletins. Speak later._

 _Clara xx_

His plan was set, but so many things had to go right for it to work.

It was still early. He breezed into Nicola's office without knocking. She would not be moved to use the Tickel situation to attack Mannion or the Government. He knew she wouldn't. He left her and that cold ice bitch, Helen, to catch their train to the 'Here to Hear' conference in Bradford.

Out on the street, on his way to visit the Weasel Reeder, in hospital, where he'd had his appendix out, he ordered flowers to be delivered to Nicola, in the evening, with a card...

"Sorry you had to go. But you are a fucking waste of skin."

It would guarantee her animosity. He was pleased with himself for thinking of it.

He would embroil the little bastard Ollie in his scheme, make him think he was doing Malcolm a favour, that rewards would come his way. He could play him like an instrument, Reeder thought he was so clever...little Oxbridge twat.

The newspaper banner headline was Steve Fleming's article, saying Nicola was 'Unelectable'. He flashed the paper at Ollie, theatrically.

Reeder pledged to contact old friend Glenn Cullen, now working for the government.

Phase one complete.

Malcolm had no time for nerves, or finer feelings. He had entered his zone, focussed, buzzing, pulling strings...Christ! He'd miss this when it was all over.

He headed back to the office. Adrenaline pumping.

Nicola and Helen were on the train to Bradford...all well and good, she was a captive audience, with a Sky News team attached to her like Velcro.

Two bombs needed to go off together, but timing was crucial.

Whilst Glenn was summoned to Ollie's bedside, Malcolm had a meeting with Ben Swain.

Ollie knew an email from Nicola, floating the exact same policy that gave Mannion and the government such grief over Mr Tickel, existed. He knew because he made it his business to know such grubby little facts. It wasn't difficult to persuade Glenn to find the email, and leak it.

Malcolm flattered Ben's inflated ego, withdraw support for Nicola, resign in protest, come back as Foreign Secretary, after the election. He fell for it, hook, line and sinker.

"You're the future Ben!" He said, as he sailed out of the office.

Meanwhile, on the Bradford train, speeding through the English countryside, Nicola was going into meltdown. News of the rumour of Ben's resignation reached her. Helen made a frantic call to Ollie.

"Get him to change his mind, ring him, offer him anything...even Chancellor."

Standing in the vestibule of the moving train, trying to reshuffle the potential cabinet to avoid Ben completely...not knowing that at the same precise moment, Dan Miller and Malcolm were in Swain's office...piling the pressure on. Offer after countermanding offer. Fuck it all, it was like Apocalypse Now!

Having given Nicola enough time to thoroughly stew in her own juices, Malcolm picked up his mobile and phoned her himself.

"Ben's gone off the radar, Nicola, don't know where he is. You need to press the Tickel button."

"I told you I don't want to use that, it's political point scoring."

"You need to attack, attack, attack, call for a Public Inquiry, it's Their fault Tickel is dead...do it before news of Ben's resignation gets out. Do it Nicola."

Phase two accomplished.

Malcolm sat back, coffee in hand and waited. He didn't have to wait long. By the time the call from Ollie came through to say the leak was successful, Nicola was already with the Sky news team calling for the inquiry and saying how disgusted she was with the Government's handling of the case.

He smiled to himself. This was too easy.

He crumpled his cup and launched it, it hit the wall and bounced into the waste paper basket...score!

Time to rain on Swain's parade. 'Rain on Swain'...had a nice ring to it!

In Parliament Square Ben was lined up for his moment of glory. The TV crew were on standby. Moments before filming, Malcolm flashed his 'grenade to shatter dreams' on his mobile.

"Oh, Ben, sorry Pal, but the email trail comes back to you supporting the policy too. Bad luck. Well, away you go, break a leg, or a wrist, or your neck...doesn't much matter."

Lamb to the slaughter.

The cameras rolled, Swain resigned, and condemned himself to the back benches for eternity. But not before attacking Nicola and saying she was unfit to lead.

Double Whammy!

On reaching his office, flinging his jacket onto the back of the chair, the vein in his temple throbbing with anticipation, he drank a can of Red Bull, not that he needed the glucose, so hyped up was he.

Blackberry in hand, the message from Ollie beamed through,

'Nicola on her way back to London. Has effectively launched Inquiry into herself! Has to stand down."

Ending with a row of smiley faces. What a cock!

She would always blame Malcolm for her demise, he bullied her into it after all. He was counting on her hating him enough, to help hang him by the bollocks at the Inquiry.

Downstairs people were gathering for the Public Hanging that was to be Nicola's resignation. He called others to come and watch.

"Someone get me a fucking Fanta!"

The culmination of a day of the most evil scheming imaginable.

The final phase completed.

He'd done it.

Ben had gone...collateral damage. Nicola had gone, his ultimate aim. An Inquiry which would encompass the whole culture of leaking, in which HE would be showered in shit, from a mighty height, had been launched.

All he needed to do now, was make sure that happened.

He called Simon Hewitt.

He could think of no one better placed, or more ready and willing, or who hated him enough, to shaft him.

The brief discussion that followed was the proverbial twist of the knife between his own ribs.

A subtle alteration to one of Simon's press article photographs, barely traceable back to source...so corrupt was he, that Simon didn't even question Malcolm's motives, he was only too happy to oblige, it would be extremely difficult to prove, should anyone wish to try, and it was all that was needed. Everyone would know, or think, that he had leaked. The evidence would be there in black and white, or glorious technicolor. Not enough to send him to prison, hopefully, but enough to finish him.

Mr. Tickel's private number, and NHS number, on top of a file, in Malcolm's hand. He would be the spawn of the devil.

His work was done.

He smiled to himself as he envisaged how they would all round on him...and they would, seeking to exonerate themselves, place the blame on him. Oh yes, they'd hang him by the bollocks. Fuck him in every possible way.

And he was ready. He didn't care. He was finished.

He suddenly felt very tired indeed.


	15. Chapter 15

The aftermath of his plotting leaves Malcolm shattered...

Two fairly short scenes by way of an interlude to the next part of the story. I wrote the descriptive scene 34, before I wrote the story itself, it was a detailed description of Malcolm that'd I'd planned as a thought, which I wanted to write down, while it was in my head. It's a scene of peace and tranquility after the mayhem.

 **Scene 33**

The shattered ghost of a man that stood on her doorstep, shocked Beth.

He almost stumbled inside and slumped on her couch. He had eaten nothing all day.

Head back against the rest, eyes fluttered closed, he breathed a deep sigh.

"Have you rung Clara, Malcolm?"

"Yeah, before I left the office. Told her I was coming here. Told her I'd see her tomorrow. If there even is a tomorrow!"

"Malcolm, we have all our tomorrow's to look forward to."

She gathered him to her, and held him fast. He sank into her embrace, his body limp, close to tears, but somehow holding back.

"But I've done it Beth. I've fucked myself. Once the Inquiry gets going I'm finished. Can't describe to you what that feels like."

"I'll be there Malcolm, every day, all the way. Right there. It'll take them a month or so to get the Inquiry up and running, you have time yet."

He pulled back from her, looking directly into her face,

"Did you mean your text this morning? It's kept me solid all day. Kept reading it. Wanted to believe it..."

"Of course I meant it. I figured there was no better time to say it. Let me say it to you now. I love you Malcolm Tucker. More than I can say."

He grabbed her to him then, holding her tight, head buried into her chest and neck.

"Fuck me Beth! I don't deserve it, not after what I've done today, I tell you, I don't feel good about myself at all."

"I don't care, Malcolm. Whatever happens, you've done the right thing. You are a good man. I know it. I see it...every day. That's the man I love."

"I fucking love you, too...I've known for ages, been too fucking scared to tell you. Thought I'd frighten you off, too much to soon...yeah?"

She stroked his head, fingers in his scalp, he hummed his approval, closing his eyes again.

"I'm so fucking tired, Beth. I need to sleep."

"But you've eaten nothing..."

"Can't. Just need to rest. Just close my eyes for a while."

She pulled him up by the hand and he followed her up the stairs.

 **Scene 34**

It was raining. The upstairs rooms in her house were in the eaves of the roof, with velux windows all along one side.

She lay awake listening to the gentle sound. Pitter patter, trickling down, mesmeric, restful.

He was sleeping. Deeply. On his back. Nude. Her head resting in the crook between his neck and shoulder. His skin was milk-white, pale, almost translucent, delicate, the blue of his veins like pathways underneath it.

She raised her head and traced a line across his chest with a finger. Traversing the sternum, where there was sparse hair, stroking across the fair nipples with the flat of her hand, his breathing hitched, and he stirred slightly. Up to his collar bones, prominent, like the hollow of the throat and Adam's apple, which she could see bobbing when he spoke. It fascinated her. His neck was sinewy, almost strained, but eminently kissable. Shoulders sharp and angular.

Whip thin arms, taut, like his chest, no body builder he. His hands were the most beautiful she had ever encountered. Large, almost seeming too big for the rest of him. Impossibly long fingers, neat, manicured nails, the psychic hand, artistic, deft, exquisite.

A couple of the end joints had become oddly shaped as he'd aged, and the skin less elastic, but they remained delicate and almost feminine, expressive, despite their size.

Long in the torso, tall altogether, with a gentle curve of the spine, to the small of his back, as her hand swept slowly down, caressing in small circles. A line of darker, fine hair began at his navel and headed south, the V of his hip flexors belied his years, the stomach had a slight softness, but the abs underneath were still tight. Narrow hips and a small firm arse, nicely rounded.

He had a nice cock too, broad and shapely, pretty balls, with a slight fuzz of hair. All soft now, as he slept, but when he was aroused, jutting upward with a slight bend, which reminded her of his fingers.

She shifted and reached lower, still stroking gently, sturdy thighs, thick and muscular, not thin and chord like, as his arms were, but strong and powerful, which was odd, because he wasn't a sportsman or anything like. When he ran he looked most ungainly, moving from the knees, driving forwards, arms out to the sides, sometimes flailing, depending on how fast he moved. Shapely calves, also tight, slim ankles and large feet. Long and narrow with long bony toes.

He sighed in his slumber, and turned himself, face now inches from her own.

Handsome, masculine, not pretty boy but easy on the eye.

A mass of steel grey hair, in curls, lighter at the front and darker at the back, slowly whitening as the years passed, salt and pepper, soft as silk to touch.

High wide forehead and expressive brows, wild and spiky, a mind of their own. His eyes were closed now, but hooded when open, in colours of the sea, blue, changing to grey or green depending on the light, pools of liquid colour, that shone from his face, especially when at his most animated. Little laughter lines traced in the corners, and he laughed a great deal when he was with her.

Her fingertip ran down his large nose, boy, but that man had a profile! A Roman nose, hooked at the bridge, rather like her own. He often touched it when he spoke, subconsciously, and it crinkled, most attractively when he smiled. A hollowness to the cheeks, a slight slackness to the jawline, silver stubble prickled outwards on his chin, rough like sand paper.

Moving towards him she touched his lips with her own, a sensual, soft mouth, passionate and tender. His smile broad and genuine, never false with her, it widened when he laughed heartily, toothy and boyish. Lovely.

On each side of his cheek a little side burn, in front of each shell like curve to the ear, velvet earlobes, a slight dent in the left, where it was once pierced, long ago, in that misspent youth.

A face of character, expressive, open, and a body that people noticed, even admired. He was all these things.

She never thought to say it, not ever again, not to anyone. But she loved him. Every inch of him. He was beautiful, and she no longer felt guilty admitting it to herself.

He was here with her, he needed her, trusted her, was in love with her too. It was true, you can strike lucky twice. Second chances, you never got second chances, and yet...and yet, it was true for both of them. She didn't even know who to thank. Love finds a way, transcends time, surpasses all expectations, overcomes all obstacles, and lasts many lifetimes.


	16. Chapter 16

The morning following his momentous day...Malcolm wakes from a strange dream to find he is no longer alone...

From now until the end I am posting the scenes individually. We are going to be dwelling more with the Doctor and Clara and their relationship now that Malcolm has achieved his aim...

 **Scene 35**

Malcolm woke with a sudden jolt.

For a moment he couldn't remember where he was.

He had a vague recollection of running...running along endless corridors, with Clara, at his side, turning back to try to catch a glimpse of an unseen menace, that was apparently chasing them, breathless, frightened.

Instead he turned to see Beth, snuggled into his side, their legs entwined.

She opened her eyes just at that moment, and seeing him next to her, smiled, a loving sweet smile.

His heart lurched.

"Hey!" She whispered. "You alright?"

"Weird dream, yeah? Can't really remember it now, but it involved running."

"Probably a subconscious thing...you feel like running away..."

"Maybe...odd though."

"It's just a dream, Malc. What time is it?"

"Time I was up, and in the shower!"

He leaned and kissed her fervently,

"You're gorgeous, you know that?"

Beth laughed.

"So are you...you're a fox!"

Malcolm chuckled,

"Yeah? Fuck yeah...that's me!"

He slid out of bed, hands raking through his hair. She watched that neat little backside as it disappeared from view.

They sat together at the breakfast table. Neither needed to speak.

She moved beside him to top up his coffee cup, and he encircled her with his arms, laying his face against her stomach.

She stroked his head as if he were a cat, then kneading his tight shoulders with her fingers.

"It's okay, Malcolm. It'll be okay."

"I just need this, yeah? Need you, want you, holding me like this. I need to feel safe."

"Whatever you need, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. We need each other. We're good, Malcolm. You and me. It works."

"Fuck knows why! But I just bloody love everything you are. Everything. Can't express it, don't know what to say...just haven't got the words...you and me...all of time and space..."

Beth took his face in both her hands, tilting it up towards her. She bent over and kissed him, a long, deep, slow kiss.

"You say the oddest things, Malcolm! But thank you. Thank you for making me feel special." She smiled.

"Thank you for the same." He replied.

They both lingered there. Neither wanted to make the move to leave. Both knew they had to go to work. It couldn't be avoided.

The aftermath of the day before had to be faced. Malcolm had already received several texts from Dan Miller.

He typed cursory replies.

Then Clara phoned.

"Dad?...you okay?"

"Yeah...I guess. Beth's here with me." He tightened his grip on her as she tried to move away to clear the dishes.

"I need to see you before work Dad, it's important. Can you meet me?"

"Sure. Anything the matter?"

"No. Nothing. But I want to see you. Just to say hi and make sure you're okay."

"I'm alright Darl, take more than this to floor me."

"Please Dad. I'll meet you in St. James's...about half seven?"

"Okay, I'll wait by the barista place. See you later."

He rang off and frowned.

"Clara wants to see me, before work...said it was important."

"She's worried about you Malcolm, we both are. Worried about what's to come."

"Funnily enough, I'm not. Now I've come this far, I'm actually looking forward to it all. The inquiry, everything, fuck...it'll be a relief to get it over."

"It's not going to be a picnic Malc, they're going to rip into you, you know that don't you?"

"Yeah... Listen...do you think when it's over...providing I'm not in prison...that you and me could go away somewhere for a bit?"

"If that's what you want."

"I do...yeah? I've never been to Italy...Pompeii, always wanted to go there...could we go, d'you think?"

"Anywhere in the world, Malc. I'm right there. I'll go anywhere, travel with you. Be with you. Whatever you want, need..."

He stood, wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her into him. His face to the side of hers, breathing deeply.

"This is a nice hug." She whispered, "but you're on the clock...we need to leave."

He released her then, brushing her lips with his own, she noticed a tremble there.

"Come on then, once more into the breech..."

They headed out together.

It was still early, the morning rush hour was not yet in full swing.

They took the tube, alighted at Westminster and cut through Horse Guards to the park, walking briskly, side by side. Malcolm held Beth's hand very tightly in his own.

Before they separated Malcolm held her as if he were terrified of letting her go. As if it would be the last time he'd ever hold her. Tight, almost crushing. Face against hers.

She was surprised to find his cheek damp, his eyes red rimmed,

"You're going to be alright, Malcolm. Just remember I love you, okay...Breathe."

"Breathing."

He blew out his cheeks, then sucked in hard, and then again. Regaining control, forcing the emotion down.

"Here comes Clara. I'll see you later, for coffee..." They kissed briefly, and she peeled away, with a wave and a blow of a kiss towards his daughter as she hurried towards her office, so as not to be late.

Malcolm came to Clara's side, and took her hand in his own.

"Okay Dad?"

"As okay as I'll ever be I guess!"

"Fuck it all Clara, I'm so lucky to have you...and now Beth. Knowing you'll both be there, whatever happens. Can't tell you how that feels yeah...?"

"It'll be alright, Dad. You deserve to be happy, it's about time."

"What was the important thing you needed to see me about? I haven't got long...I have to get to the office, Miller needs his nappy changing..."

He looked down, into those deep brown eyes...there was something...something strange. Something different? No...she'd never look any different to him.

The way she was regarding him; intense, almost burning, apprehensive, but determined.

So much in those eyes. So many different emotions. A man could drown in those eyes, be lost, never recover.

She looked sad somehow. As if she were moments away from tears.

Her small fingers clasping his hand. A stray tendril of hair blowing across her face, all the time, looking right into his face, searching, questioning silently, as if seeking recognition.

Try as he might, he could not tear his gaze from hers.

For a second her lips parted slightly and he had the impulse to lean down and kiss her...but no...she was his daughter...

"Doctor?" She whispered the word, voice quivering, so quietly he barely caught it...

Somewhere behind them, just on the edge of sight, amid the trees, a sound reached their ears...

Vvvvvoooorrrrrppppp Vvvvvvvoooooorrrrrrppppppp.

They both turned together to look...


	17. Chapter 17

This Chapter begins with Clara, the day of Malcolm's downfall. Then switches to the following day in the park...the blue box lands and Malcolm and Clara investigate...

Just one scene this time. A painful one for Clara, she has lost one person, but has she got The Doctor...HER Doctor back?...

 **Scene 36**

The watch Clara always wore around her neck, on a ribbon, felt hot to the touch.

It had grown progressively warmer as the day wore on.

All day she'd been distracted at work. With that, and trying to keep abreast of the news, hoping to discover what was going on in the corridors of power. A nagging that she couldn't put her finger on.

Normally the timepiece hung there, tucked inside her clothes and she never gave it a second thought, but now her fingers strayed to touch it frequently.

She always wore it, although she didn't really comprehend the reason, in was just a part of her, and she always kept it close. She always had it with her, never let it out of her sight, she just did.

As she'd caught up with the evening news, the resignation of Ben Swain, then Nicola Murray, the scrummage outside the Houses of Parliament, the watch burned, until she untied the ribbon and removed it. Turning it over and over in her hands. Staring down at it...then a thought struck her. She needed to see her Dad.

She had to see him.

She wasn't sure why, but she knew it was terribly important.

She picked up her mobile and dialled.

oOo

At the strange noise behind them, they both turned.

The blue box stood, inert, silent, inviting.

She tightened her grip on his fingers once more. Walking towards it as she as she did so. He followed her, curious.

Her stomach was churning, a flash in her mind of familiarity, it seemed to fill her head.

"Hello, Old Girl." She heard herself say.

"Clara..." Malcolm's voice sounded odd, strained, uncertain.

"It's an old Police Box, what's it doing here?"

"I want to look inside." She said, firmly, turning towards him.

As if her words released a latch, the door sprang open.

He jumped back, startled, but Clara reassured him.

"It's okay, it's not dangerous...look!"

As if to prove her point she dropped his hand and walked confidently inside.

"Clara...wait!"

She was already in, before he had time to think, he couldn't stay outside, while she entered alone, so he took a deep breath and plunged in after her.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

The Tardis lights were low, welcoming. A slight hum emanating from the console.

Clara, walked around it, trailing her fingers over the panels.

"What is this? It's vast!"

Malcolm was scanning the room, looking up, and around him in wonder. Uncertain, confused.

A small drawer popped open under the monitor, just beside Clara's hand.

Inside lay a syringe.

Instinctively she snatched it up and held her hand behind her back.

She crossed the floor to where Malcolm stood, still bemused, eyes roaming over the ceiling and walls, the lights, taking it all in.

"It's the Tardis." She said.

"The wha...?"

So as not to alarm him, she made as if to take his arm through hers, to pull him closer, and deftly stabbed the needle into his upper arm, through his jacket and shirt, as she did so.

"CLARA!"

He looked at her in horror and disbelief for a moment, then began to crumple into her.

Before he fell completely she eased him into the waiting chair. Out cold. She breathed a sigh of relief,

"Thank you! I wondered how I was going to accomplish that." She addressed no one in particular.

But there was a hum in response, and the lights brightened a little.

Making sure he was comfortable, Clara removed the watch from its ribbon, she fixed it into it's housing, and bought the dome down over his head.

Just as he'd shown her during several rehearsals, before he swapped places. She flicked the switches to start the transfiguring process.

Emotions overwhelmed her, as she watched the sparks, and connections, the electronic pathways, synapses snapping and fusing.

His body arched, writhing, more so than she'd remembered before, his hands clenched against the armrests, knuckles white.

Sweat formed and trickled down his forehead, into his eyes, which were twisted shut, tight, with evident pain.

The watch seemed to glow with a yellow light, a slight haze emanating from it and coursing through a narrow tube towards the head dome.

He gave a lurch and a cry, and Clara gasped, as his head lolled to one side, torso limp and lifeless. The thrum of the mechanisms ceased abruptly.

"Doctor?"

He remained as if unconscious for several minutes, Clara watched closely, touching his brow tenderly with her fingers.

When his eyes finally snapped open, he looked around him uncertainly, his eyes locking on her own.

"Clara, my Clara." He whispered.

"Doctor? ...thank God!" She breathed.

Taking his clammy hand, she helped him up.

He was unsteady on his feet, disorientated, but without a word he led her straight to the Tardis panel, where she'd connected herself before for the memory wipe.

His fingers shook as he fixed the peg like clips to her, glancing at her from time to time, as if still unsure.

"Okay?" He said, looking at her closely, eyes still barely focused.

She nodded, and he began to switch on the connectors, looking into her face all the while.

"Over to you..."

He raised his head and spoke into the air.

Immediately the Tardis began to pulsate around them.

Lights throbbed and vibrated. Clara let out a wail, as if struck and fell forwards.

He caught her in his arms.

How long she was out, she wasn't sure.

She woke to find herself laying on the Tardis floor.

The Doctor was sitting beside her, face full of concern, her hand in his, her head in his lap. He looked grey and haggard, exhausted.

"Doctor? Is it over? Are we both back, as we should be? Is it done?"

He nodded, and took her arm at the elbow, to help her stand.

She began to shake then, and then to cry. She wasn't sure why, at first, but she couldn't stop.

Loud wracking sobs left her, her shoulders trembling, she felt nauseous, headachy, desperately tired.

The sense of aching loss, that was it...irretrievable.

She'd been deprived of something, something very dear.

Everything that Malcolm had become for her, all the time she'd spent so close to him. The deep loneliness she knew he felt. The evening she'd found him after Beth's gig, so desperate, so empty, so sad, weeping, but trying so hard to hold it back. It felt like when she'd lost her mother, a bereavement. The ache in her chest was profound. Inexorable.

The Doctor held her against him, tight as he could.

And Oh God! He felt so good.

It felt as if she'd been locked in a dungeon, alone, for countless years, forgotten by everyone.

The feel of him, the smell of him, it was so wonderful. Every contour of his body, every muscle, every breath he took against her.

He was still wearing Malcolm's suit, holding her close, he wouldn't let her go. Rubbing one hand up and down her back, the other in her hair, caressing, cradling, hushing her. It just made her cry harder. She was inconsolable.

"Oh Doctor, he's going to be so alone, he loved her so much, he loved me so much, what can we do? What can we do? I can't bear it."

To her surprise, his voice sounded cold, harsh,

"There's nothing Clara, when we return him, it's up to him. He's done what he needed to do. Now he makes his own luck."

She was shocked.

"How...how can you say that?" She cried, pulling back, "You loved her, it was you, those feelings, it was you."

"No, Clara, " he said, stiffly," it wasn't me, it was Malcolm himself. It wasn't me, I'm here now."

"But y...he needed someone, so desperately, he'd just learned to trust, to love again, after so long...so long."

He released her from his embrace, with a hiss, as if she burned him, suddenly stern, almost angry.

"And do you think I don't know what that feels like?" He shouted, "nine hundred years Clara, nine hundred years!"

She stared at him, stunned. His voice trembled, his face quivered too, he couldn't look directly at her.

Eventually, he summoned all the strength he could muster, he drew himself up to his full height, glowering down at her, he WOULD push it down, he would not give way, he'd done it before, he'd do it again.

"Clara! You knew this would be the way. You knew this would happen. I prepared you for it. So! Chin up. Shoulders back."

He clasped her under the jawline firmly, his fingers tight, unforgiving, it was almost painful.

"Clara! Give me some attitude! Dry your eyes! Make us some tea! I need to change out of these clothes. We have to do this. We have to put him back. It needs to be finished, and soon."

Wiping her face and fighting to control the deep pain and confusion inside her, he let her go, she stepped back, almost as if she were afraid, backing away from him slowly. How could he be so unfeeling, so detached?

Turning away, she did just as he suggested. No words, no retort, no question. Fists clenched in tight balls at her sides.

She did not see his head sink against the console, arms wrapped over it, knees buckling, despondent, without hope, in torment.

For once the Tardis seemed to gauge the mood, and tea was waiting for her when she reached the kitchen.

He joined her shortly. His long coat, boots, buttoned up shirt, The Doctor again.


	18. Chapter 18

Clara is hurt and confused by the Doctor's reactions once the swap is complete. Has the process altered him?...will their relationship be back to square one?...

In this scene we discover why Nicola had to go. Malcolm was clever enough to spot that she could be potentially dangerous, but even he could not have foreseen the repercussions should he have failed...

 **Scene 37**

Safe in the med-bay, sleeping peacefully. The real Malcolm lay. He looked at ease, relaxed.

"Let's leave him to sleep for a while longer and view the fruits of our labours, shall we?"

Clara followed The Doctor to the console room, still wary, still deeply upset.

She couldn't understand it. He'd improved hadn't he?

With the hand holding, the snuggling, the odd kiss...it's true he wasn't the freely giving, touchy feely person his previous self had been, but he was learning...she'd thought, he was getting there. But now...now he seemed detached, he'd taken three steps back, it was as if he'd forgotten...forgotten the Dream Crabs, the way he'd been with her afterwards...all gone.

Had she lost him all over again?

Together they watched the monitor.

His hands hovered above the keyboard.

"These are the events that would happen if our Mr Tucker in there had not played his part. I can send the Tardis into the path, and along it, we can watch it unfold."

The Time Machine shuddered around them, lights oscillating, currents whirring.

His long fingers punched buttons, seemingly at random as various scenes like newsreels rushed past, faster than the eye could view.

The reel slowed to a halt and began to play.

It was a scene of a jubilant Nicola Murray elected as Prime Minister, waving and simpering to the crowd as she entered Number 10.

It seemed to fast forward then, almost making Clara dizzy with the speed.

"Here is the next one coming up, looks like some years later."

"Good God, they elected her for a second term, what were they thinking? Horrible woman, she was useless, Malcolm always thought so."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows.

"Told you did he?"

"Yes, of course, I was his daughter, remember, I loved him Doctor...and for what it's worth, he, or should I say, you...loved me too."

His eyes opened wide, eyebrows raised again.

"I told you, it wasn't me, all those emotions, all that feeling, came from him...I was only the vessel, with his face."

"Yeah, well...it seemed pretty real to me." She replied, gloomily.

The Doctor pulled a face, and suddenly looked melancholy, his glance registered pain. But he refrained from comment.

"Here we are, here's the next one."

A newscast, covering the passing of various funding bills, through Parliament, it focussed on the change in Scientific research, and bacteriology.

The Timelord frowned, as he watched,

"That's not good." He pointed at the screen, "that there, that could be it...let's move forward again."

The last piece of footage was familiar, the desolation, the chaos, the riots in the streets. They'd seen it when they visited UNIT and Lawrence Lethbridge-Stewart.

The Doctor's face twisted in anguish, his eyes watered, and his fingers went up to his face, touching his mouth subconsciously. Clara watched him closely.

He seemed to reach a silent conclusion.

Without warning he slammed the monitor back in place.

Turning suddenly, eyes wild, looking like a mad professor.

Clara stared open mouthed, as he began to yell aloud to the walls around him.

"Time for the Tardis to show us the parallel vision..."

He was so animated, moving quickly around the console, throwing levers, pressing buttons.

"Come on Old Girl...show me...show me how Malcolm Tucker saved the day." He shouted,

"Show me the new future...show me what will happen now..."

He capered about, arms in the air, as the centre column began to rise and fall rapidly, the Tardis lurched and shook.

The familiar vvvooorrpppp vvvvvooooorrrrppp, all around them.

"That's it...that's it...oh Clara, my Clara...!"

He flung his arms around her, swinging her round, like his old bow-tie self had often done.

He seemed euphoric, his face illuminated by a strange light, eyes piercingly bright, his whole body quivering with the anticipation, the emotion of the moment.

The Tardis was spinning...spinning between the two converging pathways, two futures, a yawning fissure fracturing one against the other...

"Oh, here we go...this is nasty work, this is not good. However this has been created, it's a devilish mind behind it. Seems like they may need a DOCTOR!"

He placed added emphasis on his own name.

"Oh...this is far from over, this is just the beginning. Clara, you and I will still have much to do, after this. Crisis averted...but only for now. There is alien work here..."

He grabbed the screen again, hands on the keypad...

"Come on...come onnnnn..." He said through gritted teeth. As the Tardis groaned around them.

Newsreels began to scroll again. Events flashing by like an old reel to reel movie.

The Goolding Inquiry, Malcolm in the hot seat...Clara gasped in horror, her hands to her face,

"No... Doctor! Slow it down...make it stop! No! No!...look at him, they're shafting him, oh God...he won't go to prison will he?"

"I doubt it...not enough evidence to hang him! "

The Baroness speaking..."are you finished Mr Tucker?"

"Yes, I'm finished. But you didn't finish me."

The final look on his face, had Clara sobbing anew.

She clutched The Doctor's arm. He looked down at her hand, but didn't flinch or pull away.

"Wait...wait...look who's there..."

He pointed a bony finger at the side of the screen.

The Inquiry was over, the building was emptying. A knot of press and media gathered in the foyer, ready to catch the story.

As the crowds spilled out of the hall, Malcolm strode down the steps, jostled and surrounded, head high, he was met by Beth, she fell into step beside him and he took her hand in his own as they were ushered into a waiting car.

Once inside, she enveloped him in her arms. As it pulled away, Clara could see them kiss, long and tender.

The piece ended, and spun forwards. Clara was laughing and crying all at the same time. Clutching the lapels of The Doctor's coat.

"They were together...did you see? They were together Doctor...in the time after we send him back...how long will it be?"

"Three months." He replied, and his voice had a distinct rasp.

The pictures faded.

Then the Election, the new Prime Minister, from Mannion's party, he was nowhere in sight, but the result was clear.

Flicking onwards, blurred outlines came and went, the State Opening of Parliament, some years hence.

The King's Speech. Charles III.

"My Government is pledged to fund new Scientific Research into Bacteriology, and new ways to combat diseases."

The next item that floated into view was a huge global headline. Daily Newspapers from all over the world, shouted the banner in black and white.

"New antibiotic discovered. Greatest Breakthrough Since Penicillin."

"OH MY GOD! " Clara cried, face still wet with tears...

"Doctor, THAT'S IT...it's the funding! The funding Nicola would have signed against. She didn't back it, didn't believe in it."

"That's the moment...Oh Malcolm! You clever fucker...you knew she was no good, even before any of this, you knew...you knew!"

Now it was her turn to dance around.

The Doctor watched her, ignoring the fact that she'd blasphemed, he couldn't help but smile at her.

"Oh Doctor, he was magnificent, he sacrificed himself, made everyone hate him...but it was all for the greater good. I love him. I love him so much. He's a dear. Oh, I feel like my chest is going to burst."

She began to weep again.

The Doctor's voice was soft, and had deep feeling.

"It's time we sent him home I think." He murmured.

Clara calmed herself and came to stand next to him, his euphoria gone, face set and glum once again.

Seeing him just now, gleeful, childlike. Yet earlier, so taciturn, hard and uncaring...and now...what was going on?

He seemed like Jekyll and Hyde.

Had something happened in the transfiguration process?

She found herself regarding him closely. His face, his movement, for any telltale sign, any give away, that something had changed.

When he'd regenerated it had taken her a long time to get used to the new 'him'. She'd missed her old friend.

It had taken him ages to even so much as touch her, unless absolutely necessary, and she'd craved that contact.

Was she going to have to start again from the beginning?


	19. Chapter 19

It is time for Malcolm to be returned to his own life...Clara is sad, as she knows he'll lose the memories and she is desperate for him not to be alone...

The Doctor is recalling some thoughts...of a very, very long time ago...memories that were buried deep, memories he would prefer remained that way...

 **Scene 38**

Clara leaned over the sleeping man. The sorrow she felt bought a lump to her throat.

If she had to start all over again with the Doctor, then it was the same for Beth with Malcolm.

She would retain no memory of the previous months either...if only they could all carry on from where they'd left off.

But she knew it was impossible.

Everything would be different.

The Malcolm they returned would retain only the events leading to Nicola's resignation, everything else would be gone.

She knew, now, that they were together, but she mourned the loss of the closeness he'd shared when the Doctor had taken his place.

She turned to the Timelord as he scanned the sonic across the connectors. He was looking away from her pointedly.

"I need to do a little jiggery-pokery with his memory. He needs to know what he's done, regarding his political existence, or rather what I did in his name, but, otherwise, as far as he is concerned, everything else is just as it was in his life, before we intervened."

Clara watched as The Doctor wired the still slumbering man to the Tardis circuits, as he had done with her.

"Poor man," she whispered, and touched his cheek gently with her fingers.

The Timelord followed the movement of her hand with his eyes, flinching slightly and swallowing, his voice sounded odd, strained.

"He'll be alright." He said softly, "he's a clever man, he'll get through it, and come out the other side."

A tear coursed down her cheek.

"But time has been rewritten, that time you...he...had with Beth, hasn't happened, they haven't met, the only thing that's the same is that he's engineered Nicola's downfall, and his own, that's all he'll remember, all he'll know."

The Doctor turned away so that Clara couldn't see his face, gripping the panel in front of him, eyes stinging, knuckles white, he said nothing.

Memories forced their way into his mind.

Thoughts from long, long ago.

He saw Martha's face in his minds eye, worried, frightened, fading from his view as he became John Smith, the schoolmaster.

Somewhere at the back of his cerebral cortex, he recalled the surge of feeling, the moment he first met Joan Redfern, she had been so delicate to look at, like a flower, yet she was resourceful and strong, just like Clara. His beloved Clara.

Nurse Redfern...yielding to his kiss.

Losing Rose had been completely devastating, he'd still been raw from it, at that time.

He swore to himself, never would he do that again.

He'd chosen Martha for that reason, she was a companion, that was it. He chose not to see that SHE was in love with him.

Then what did he do?

Fell helplessly and passionately in love with the first woman he saw, as soon as he became human himself!

What was it about Homo Sapiens?...he just couldn't help himself, as himself or in human form.

Oh, yes...God! Yes...he remembered all too well...the way his heart skipped a beat whenever she was near, what it felt like to touch his lips to hers, hold her in his arms, and how he wanted her.

It was almost a physical pain.

The glimpse of the future he might have had with her, if he'd stayed. Marriage, children...it was bittersweet agony.

Worse still, he remembered how he felt once he'd changed back. How much it hurt, how guilty he felt.

Even when he'd been about to regenerate he'd been compelled to check she'd been happy, got on with her life, found someone.

It had almost been unbearable.

He thought he could control his emotions, not allow himself to fall and be hurt so badly again. Then, as soon as he took human form for the second time, exactly the same thing happened.

The feelings would not be denied, they leapt to the surface unbidden.

Deep powerful surges of emotion.

Love, desire, need...they bubbled up like a well-spring. Mocking his attempts to hold them in check.

Leaving him with an almost constant ache, an emptiness that he ceaselessly attempted to fill.

Until Rose he'd always managed to keep them at arms length, Victoria, Jo, Sarah-Jane, Peri, Ace...but Rose...Rose had taught him what it meant to love again, as he had on Gallifrey, as a young man.

After her, he knew, love was something he needed, craved. Gallifrey was gone, but these humans...they were capable of such devotion.

Perhaps that was why they meant so much to him.

Even River, whom he might have expected to spend lifetimes with, (albeit in the wrong order), even she, had given up her regenerations to save him.

A sacrifice which almost broke him.

With Clara, as his bow-tie self, he'd managed to hide under a mask of playfulness, flirtation, friendly hugs instead of passionate ones. So she would be in no doubt of his intentions.

He wasn't entirely sure it had worked, but he'd endeavoured.

Then she stepped into his timeline.

Without a second thought.

Seared herself into his very being.

Now, in this new body, he'd tried...tried, oh so hard, not to fall in love. Keep his feelings down.

He thought his appearance might put her off... 'I'm not your boyfriend'.

Well, at least not anymore.

Then, when she'd started seeing Danny...he'd found he could barely cope.

He didn't want to share her. It was too late, he was in love.

No wonder it all came out when he became human again. He simply couldn't hold it in any longer.

He was in turmoil. Tormented. Desperate.

Loving her so much he was afraid of it.

Now he was back, and Clara was here with him...she'd initiated the hugging, the odd kiss, in the first place, now he couldn't live without them.

Of course he wanted her, intensely, but eventually he'd lose her, as he had everyone else, and then he'd be alone again.

He wanted to scream and weep...to wail, and beat his fists at the unfairness of it all.

The Tardis swung into motion again, landing with a final bang.

The park outside looked just as they'd left it.

Except the whole world, the whole future had changed.

They left Malcolm seated on the bench, still drowsy with sleep, in the warm sunshine. It was nearly coffee break time.

"Can you cloak the Tardis Doctor, I want to see what happens, I NEED to see what happens...please!"

He smiled indulgently at her, and held out his hand. He knew she was hurting. She looked down at it for a second, then took it, retreating inside...with a click of his fingers he closed the door, they moved to the monitor to watch.

After a few moments, Beth came and sat next to Malcolm on the wooden seat, she glanced at him sleeping, then opened her book, sipping her coffee.

"What are you reading?"

She looked at him sharply,

"I thought you were asleep," she said.

"Just resting my eyes!" He smiled.

"Leonardo Da Vinci...that's what I'm reading."

"Sounds interesting. Malcolm, by the way." He held out his hand.

"Beth." She replied, and shook it.

"I'm going to get myself a coffee...can I get you anything?" He rose, feeling in his pockets for money.

"That's kind of you, I'll have another cappuccino please."

"I'll just be a minute." He ambled off in the direction of the barista stall.

The Doctor turned to Clara.

"I think we can safely assume he'll be okay." He said, his tone unsteady. He barely trusted his voice.

"I can't tell you how glad I am...I wanted them to be together, and be happy, they were so good together...when it was you..."

"I told you..."

"I know...it wasn't you, it was him..."

"Will he have the same...the same...as he had as you...?"

"I hope so, Clara. I want to believe so, I think the relationship could possibly run on similar lines, just because the main future has changed, doesn't mean everything has to. Remember she was there after the Inquiry. That's still three months away. "

"Yes she was...and I saw the way they looked at each other and the kiss."

"Exactly!"

"Doctor...why do you have this facade of indifference? You care deeply. I can tell."

"Because, it's hard Clara. I don't always like the decisions I make, but sometimes I have to make them, then live with the consequences. It's a burden, and one that is heavy to bear."

"It's time to go." He said, with an air of finality.

The Doctor flung the lever down and away they whirled, into blackness of space...


	20. Chapter 20

The final chapter...the Doctor and Clara alone together again...feelings have to be faced, fears conquered, but they are barely speaking. Who will be the first to crack?...

This chapter is rated M, it is not as explicit as it might be, as I can't write like that convincingly. But just so the reader is aware.

What does the future hold for The Doctor and Clara?...

 **Scene 39**

It was snuggle time. With The Doctor.

On the couch. In the library, with cocoa and biscuits.

Clara leaned against him, her hand resting over his hearts.

Relishing the moment.

Ever since the day they'd set Malcolm back into his own life, he felt as if floating in a void, of his own making.

Living with Clara on the Tardis, and having no physical contact with her, caused him such anguish, he could settle to nothing, in a constant state of distress.

It had been several days before she'd hugged him again, she'd been angry with him, he knew.

They'd circled around each other, avoiding each other, not touching, hardly a glance.

It was purgatory for both of them.

Eventually one would have to crack.

Surprisingly it was Clara, usually so controlling...but no, she'd nuzzled against him at cocoa time despite herself...

But he didn't know what to say to her, how to make things right.

It all came out suddenly, in a long juddering sigh.

So, heartfelt, so earnest, that it made her sit up and look at him, questioningly.

"What is it Doctor?"

"Nothing." He replied, shifting awkwardly.

She frowned at him, and crossed her arms over her chest, head slightly on one side.

He couldn't look her in the eye, fiddling with the buttons on the front of his waistcoat. Staring down at the floor.

"Doctor...? This is me. Clara. We said 'no more lies'. You've been different...distant, ever since we came back...what is it? What's wrong? Talk to me..."

He raised his eyes slowly, and sighed again.

"I've been thinking...about Beth, and m...him."

"And?" Her gaze had softened, but she held his own, steadily.

"It was nice. Those feelings were...nice. I wish I could...it's been hard, Clara. Since I changed, I haven't been able to...and I do want to...it's just that..."

Clara leaned forwards, and pressed her lips to his. He reciprocated immediately, letting out the slightest of whimpers against her mouth.

His arms came around her, pulling her into him fiercely, a sob left him.

He shifted sideways on the seat, to get a better angle, then manoeuvred her backwards, deepening the kiss, so that she was lying partly under him.

When they finally broke for air, she looked into his reddened eyes, they were burning, burning with _need._

It was there plain to see.

"Clara..." He murmured, against her neck.

She stroked his face, and he leaned into her hand eagerly, kissing her palm.

"Touch me." She whispered, "share those feelings with me. Please, Doctor. I'm asking you."

In reply he kissed her mouth again, tongue seeking admission, sliding his hands up under her shirt, moving across the rise of her breasts, pausing to touch a nipple through her underwear, he was rewarded with her sharp intake of breath.

Her small fingers undid the buttons on his waistcoat and pushed it back over his shoulders where it dropped to the floor.

He watched her intently.

His shirt followed, untucked at the waist, unfastened and removed. She smoothed a hand across his skinny chest, smiling approval at what she saw and felt, then lingering by his collarbone and the dip of his throat nipping and sucking the soft skin.

He pulled off her shirt, over her head, not bothering to undo it, the sight of her lace bra made him push against her.

He was hard and she could feel it.

"Oh, Gods, Clara, you are so beautiful." He murmured. "I love you."

She stopped abruptly then and stared at him, wide eyed.

"You...?"

"Yes, Clara...oh yes! God...yes. I promised...no more lies."

She touched his lips with her own again, exploring, tasting his sweetness.

His hand strayed to her skirt, lifting it and moving up between her thighs, he paused, and looked at her, silently asking permission. In answer she placed her fingers over his own and moved him to where she wanted him.

"Oh, Doctor, I've wanted this, so many nights, so many times, I've wanted this."

As he caressed her there, her hands reached for his belt, flipping it undone, then his trouser button and fly.

He moaned as she pushed inside the fabric to stroke him, so aroused, begging for her touch.

"Clara, my Clara..."

"Doctor, make love to me...I need you...I need you inside me, now. I need to you to share this with me. Please, Doctor."

She could tell he was coming unravelled, all sense of rhythm lost with his fingers, it was as a tidal wave that the passion enveloped him. Having her here like this, with him, under him, all the pain and hurt, all the adventures they'd been through, suddenly seemed to pale into insignificance.

All the lies, the denials, the times they'd hurt each other with word and deed. How close he'd come to losing her forever, all leading towards this single moment.

He placed his forehead against her own, pressing gently.

"Share it all, Clara, share everything with me...please." He murmured, closing his eyes.

"Let me see you. I'll let you see me." She said softly.

Colours and swirls of mist seemed to touch her mind, moving, opening, drawing back, allowing him to pass through, and then...he was there.

He was there with her, and she could sense all the love, the adoration. The power of his feeling for her, it was all there, in her head.

"Oh, Doctor..." She whispered, "so long...you've tormented yourself for so long...take my love, take my thoughts...know how much I love you, have always loved you."

And he did, she was inside his mind too, moving there, alongside him, he could feel her burning intensity, her desire...everything."

When he entered her she gasped, her head pushed backwards into the cushions, her legs wide and wrapped around his body, lifting herself to take him fully. He groaned aloud, whispering desperate words of adoration into her ear.

She felt her climax rising, overtaking her, driving out all other thoughts.

"Oh God...I love you so much Doctor...so much..."

She shuddered around him, drawing him in, and he followed her, his body pulsing, out of control. His voice hoarse with desire,

"My impossible girl...never leave me..."

His arms gave way under him and his weight came down onto her. She held on to him tightly, keeping him there, still inside her, as he softened.

His mind gradually retreating from her own.

She wanted to stay like this forever, at one with him, completely joined. Eventually he rolled away, and she immediately missed the feeling.

"I will have to leave you one day." She said softly, her fingers in his hair, "I'll grow old and die, and you'll travel with someone else, many other people, for countless years, long after I'm gone, until this body of yours is tired and you regenerate again."

"I know, my dearest Clara, but after this, things will never be the same for me again, you will be forever seared on _this_ brain, on _these_ hearts. I'll never feel the same about anyone else, ever again. Not in this body. You will be with me for all time. We will have many tomorrow's to share yet. You and me."

They curled together, where they were, sated, wet and debauched, on the sofa. They slept, even The Doctor closed his eyes and dreamed fitfully.

He'd allowed himself to fall, headlong, whatever the consequences to his poor battered hearts. Yes, he would lose her eventually, but while she remained, he would concentrate on that.

Loving her, sharing with her, being with her, travelling through time. He would give her everything he possibly could, for as long as he could, and he would always remember her with a smile, his impossible girl.

Had he but known it, not so very far away, Malcolm Tucker held Beth in his arms, in a dreamy post-coital haze, experiencing almost exactly the same feelings.

Later, when they were rested, they found themselves back in the console room.

The Doctor was busily splicing wires, dismantling a junction box, just fiddling, the screwdriver held between his teeth.

Clara sat down on the stair adjacent to him, and watched him fondly.

He turned to her and smiled, and his look had utterly changed...no more uncertainty, no more avoidance, the look told her of his deep and abiding love.

She returned the smile, the dimples in her cheeks, reddening slightly under the intensity of his gaze.

She reached out and squeezed his arm, and he laid his hand over hers. A simple gesture, but one full of meaning, for both of them.

"What's going to happen about the Time Anomalies Doctor? Are there more versions of you scattered through time and space? "

"That's what we need to find out," he said, eyes twinkling, childlike again.

"That's our next big adventure, if you're game that is?"

"As long as I'm with you, I'm game for anything." She replied.

"Right then!" He cried, jumping up.

"Let's go!"

That is the end of this part of the story.

However the story arc will continue in another adventure. 'Old Friend, Old Enemy.'

In which The Doctor and Clara will be continuing to track the Time Anomalies and hunt the perpetrator/s. I have already started work on that, and, once drafting is complete, will begin posting it. As a little spoiler...there will be Captain Jack...

Thank you very much for reading. I appreciate your kind comments and for taking the trouble to send them. Your words are what makes the writing so rewarding.


End file.
